


Unadulterated Insanity

by marshmallowcat249



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Death, Drug Use, Hell, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Purgatory, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallowcat249/pseuds/marshmallowcat249
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dallon and Brendon have been living together in Nebraska for five years. After a debacle over what day their anniversary is, things take a turn for the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Brendon, have you seen the bag of type O? I can't find it," Dallon shouts from the kitchen. 

"I put at the bottom of the fridge so it'd be colder!" I say, and Dallon groans.

"Brendon, god dammit! We've been over this! The fridge just preserves the blood, I don't like it cold!" he spits out. "Now I have to wait for it to warm up."

"Why don't you just microwave it?" I say, putting the game's controller on the coffee table. 

"The microwave just burns it. Kills the blood cells. Makes it useless. I hate the taste of dead blood," he says, roughly pulling his sleeves up.

"Ok, sorry dude, I forgot." I didn't mean to upset him, he seems unreasonably angry at me. 

"Do I have to label the damn bags? Put a warning sticker on them just for you?" he growls. Something seems off about him. He's almost never like this, he doesn't usually become angry with me over something so small. 

"Dallon, I get it. I won't touch them from now on. Ok?" I reassure. 

"Ok," he says, picking up the bag and retreating angrily to his room. He didn't remember. Our anniversary is today. Our five year anniversary, he has no excuse to forget. I can't believe him.

I get up and walk to my room. Pulling out the heavily locked trunk under my bed, I can faintly smell the copious amounts of garlic from the outside. Dallon rarely comes into my room for this reason. I lean over to the nightstand and take the set of keys out of the bottom drawer. After the three locks fall from the trunk, the smell of garlic becomes so potent I can barely stand being so close to it. I close the door and stuff a towel under the door to block the smell from leaking into the hallway and into Dallon's room. I pull my shirt over my nose and search the contents of the trunk. I pick up the sterling silver bracelet and lock it onto my wrist. Dallon was pissed when he first moved in because all of my eating utensils were made of silver. They were switched to steel that same afternoon. I pick up my old silver chain necklace and slip it around my neck as well. I lock the trunk and tuck it under my bed once again. 

 

Walking back to the living room, I see Dallon sucking type O out of the bag hungrily. His back is facing me, so he doesn't notice me entering. I sit on the couch, hide my silver necklace under my shirt, and turn on the television.

He has some nerve, not even setting a reminder on his phone, or writing it on the calendar? There's so many things he could've done to help him remember. He did nothing. I've been waiting for this day for months. I wanted to try and take him outside again. He'll probably just go to work and pay no attention to the date as always. He only cares about the date on his birthday. He'll be turning 95 in a couple of months. Extremely young for a vampire, considering their life expectancy. 

An empty sucking sound resonates from the kitchen. Dallon opens the trash can and drops the empty bag of blood inside. He walks into the living room and sits on the couch a few feet away from me. He doesn't care to notice my jewelry, I wear it all the time. He just doesn't know what it's made of.

"So, what are you eating for dinner?" he asks without turning to face me. 

"I was thinking I'd try ordering from that new Italian place down the street." Dallon turns to look at me, biting down on his bottom lip.

"Brendon... you know what's in Italian food, right?"

It takes all of my willpower to not burst out laughing, I can't help the smile that plays my lips. 

"Yeah, I know. Would you mind uh, taking out your phone?" I ask. 

"Um... ok..." he hesitates, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket. 

"So uh, what does the date say?" I ask. If he doesn't start catching on quick, I might have to shove garlic bread down his throat. Might.

"Uh, October 20th, why?" He doesn't remember. He truly forgot. He doesn't even look like he's trying to mess with me. I decide not to punch him in the face just yet, but it's becoming hard to control my fist. He glances at my bracelet, but thinks nothing of it, probably because he doesn't think I'd actually wear silver in his presence. 

I storm to the kitchen. Dallon consented to me keeping a stash of garlic powder for protection against him. Dallon can get crazy sometimes, and he knows it. I open the cabinet, grabbing the garlic powder and slamming it on the counter. A small crack is now visible at the bottom of the jar. 

"B-Brendon... what are you doing with that?" He takes in a deep breath and exhales shakily. He puts his hands into his jacket pockets to hide the fact that they're shaking in fear. 

"Do you have any idea as to what today is?" I ask.

"I-its the 20th... you made me check the calendar," he says, still shaking and taking deep breaths. It's nice for him to be scared of me for once, as it's almost always the other way around, him threatening to bite me if I don't do something for him. 

"Yes, but what makes this day special, Dallon?" 

"Umm... I don't know..." he says with concern. 

"IT'S OUR FIVE YEAR ANNIVERSARY, DALLON! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FORGOT!" 

I walk away from the kitchen and press the silver bracelet I've been wearing to his cheek. A small, sizzling sound vibrates through my ears, curling the ends of my mouth upwards. He winces and steps away. 

"Y-you're wearing silver?" he asks, starting to panic. 

"Oh, look at the genius, finally figured something out on his own for once," I say, revealing the silver chain around my neck. 

"Hey, Brendon, look. Let me make it up to you, please. I'm very sorry, I thought I had written it down somewhere..." 

"NO, SORRY ISN'T GOING TO DO. THIS IS MOST IMPORTANT DAY OF THE YEAR, AND YOU FORGET?!?! NOT EVEN ONE REMINDER ANYWHERE?! You disgust me, Dallon." I storm upstairs into my room, slamming the door behind me. 

A few hours pass, and Dallon walks in. He cringes at the lingering smell of the garlic, retreating towards the doorway. 

"Brendon..." 

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT, DALLON?!" 

"I-I'm sor-" 

I don't want to hear it. He should've remembered. 

"NO, DALLON, JUST GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY FACE!" 

He sniffles. Pity is all he has in his eyes, a single tear falls from his cheek and onto the floor. I turn over and bury my head in my pillow, not wanting to see him try and guilt me into forgiving him. His heavy footsteps leave the room. 

♢♢♢

The next morning, I roll my head off of my tear-stained pillow. I shouldn't let myself be mad for so long. I need to do something, though. Kick him out? Stab him? Maybe. My empty stomach is much too distracting at the moment to think. 

I step out of bed; the floor seems unusually cold. I pick up my socks sitting on the edge of the bed and slip then on, making the cold, hard, wood seemingly easier to bear. The trek to the kitchen is short, as I'm practically sprinting to get there. I'm starving; I didn't eat dinner last night because I was so upset. 

The kitchen has a weird sense to it, almost as if I'm being watched. I take a bowl from the cabinet and a spoon from the drawer, setting them both on the counter. When I turn around, a hand grabs my neck, shoving me against the refrigerator. 

"YESTERDAY WAS NOT OUR ANNIVERSARY, BRENDON!!! I WAS RIGHT, I CHECKED!!!" 

I gasp and claw at Dallon's shockingly strong hand, knowing he probably just ate. I try to pull myself out of his grasp, to try and breathe. Dallon's never been this angry before. 

"C-c-can't, breathe..." I manage. Not being able to breathe is one of the scariest things to ever experience. It makes it seem as if all hope has been thrown out the window. My life rests in his hands. I turn my hands around, trying to get a better grip on his forearms. I hear a sizzling sound and Dallon hesitates his grip on me as the bracelet burns his hand. I take this moment of hesitation to pull his hands away from my throat. 

After bringing my knee up to hit his groin with a much strength as I can muster, I scramble to the far side of the living room near a window, gasping and trying to catch my breath. I draw the curtain back, sunlight washing over me. I use this moment to try and regain my breath properly while trying to register what just happened. 

But one thing is for certain, and it's that I need to stay alive.

I run up to my bedroom, frantically dropping to the floor and dragging the trunk out from under my bed. Heavy footsteps make their way towards my room. I take out my large machete from the trunk. I was hesitant to buy this, as I never felt like I would ever need to hurt Dallon. Unfortunately, there's a first time for everything. 

I hold the blade up and sit near the wall, waiting for him to find his way to my room. I don't want to play offense; I don't want either of us to be hurt. I just want everything to be okay again...

I feel a tear rolling down my cheek as Dallon reaches the threshold of my room. His tall, slender figure stares at me from across the room, a violent fire flickering in his eyes. 

"P-please, Dallon..." I stutter.

He acts as if he doesn't hear my words and reaches me in three daunting steps. Before I can bring the blade up to defend myself, it's ripped out of my hand and thrown into the hallway. He bends down and picks me up from under my arms, and chucks me onto the bed. He sits in between my hips, his knees on either side of my waist. 

Dallon leans forward and sets his hands on top of my shoulders, now fully pinning me to the bed. This isn't what i think it is. 

No. 

It can't be. 

He wouldn't do that. 

His head comes down so close to my head that when he speaks, his lips brush against my ear. 

"I love you..." 

Anger bubbles in my stomach. He doesn't love me. What a cruel, lying bastard.

"Don't do this, Dallon, p-please, I'm not ready yet..." I say as best as I can with a sore throat. I can still fathom his hands on my neck, nearly taking my life. This is not love. It is anger, and pure unadulterated insanity. 

His teeth scrape against me slightly before making two holes in my neck. I wince, shocked that the fangs can go so deep. They don't look very long when I see them. Excess blood runs down my neck and onto the sheets. I scream in pain. It seems like forever before he detaches himself. I feel used. Broken. 

Instantly, the weight resting on my hips are gone. Dallon runs out of the room, I hear him stumbling slightly down the stairs. All I can do is lay here. What now? He bit me. It was only a matter of time before it happened, but I didn't expect it. I thought we'd plan it out somehow. Wait until I was ready. 

But, now the time has come and I have no idea what to do. I wait in my bed for what seems like hours, waiting for an answer. Maybe I should talk to him.

I walk downstairs to see him huddled in the corner of the living room, wearing a ski mask, gloves, a hoodie, sweatpants, and extra long socks. He covers himself when he's scared or nervous; as if clothes could solve his problems, but they can't. 

"D-dallon..." I stutter. I'm not going to make the situation any better by being scared of him. We're equals now, technically. 

"I-I'm so sorry... I don't know what came over me, I was so mad, and confused, and scared, and I knew how you weren't ready for it yet, I just wish I had locked myself up or let you chop my head off. I couldn't control myself, I wanted to keep you, forever..." he says, facing the wall.

One cannot control themselves when they are in love. You feel as if you're liable for anything and everything that happens to them, good or bad. Like you have to do everything in your power to keep them with you. So that's what Dallon did. An act of love.


	2. The Nudist transition

"It's okay, Dallon," I wipe away small tears falling onto his cheeks. We both knew it would happen eventually, but we had never really talked about when I'd actually let him do it. I didn't want to wait too long, because he doesn't age. I wouldn't want to be walking around with him in public (even though I doubt we ever would, at this point), me looking like twice his age. 

"No, it's not, you shouldn't have to live like this, I'm so sorry..." he chokes out a sob. I kneel down next to him, pulling the ski mask off of his face. He tries to stop my hands, but I shake my head and set it on the floor. 

"You and I both knew that this would happen. Stop acting like it's a surprise," I state. His lips tremble as if he's going to say something, but he uses his fangs to bite his lip instead, blood now leaking from the self-made wound. I lick my lips, trying to restrain myself from attacking him. 

"You're already blood-thirsty, that's really early, Bren." 

He walks to the fridge, opening it and grabbing a bag of blood from the top shelf. He takes the tube and opens the utensil drawer, taking out a knife and cutting off the top half of the tube. He solemnly walks back to the living room. 

"Here, I'm never letting you have fresh blood. You might as well get used to this." 

"Why can't I have fresh blood?" I ask. Dallon refers to 'fresh' blood as blood that came directly from a body(the body is usually alive), not going through processing at the hospital. I'm guessing that's the kind of blood that's treasured. 

"Because it'll be the only kind of blood you want. I'm not letting you make the mistakes I made. Now drink this." I take in a shaky breath, wanting the blood from his lips rather than the blood in the bag. It looks so much richer. Dallon sucks in his bottom lip, hiding the bite and the blood. I press my lips together and take the bag from him, scowling at Dallon. 

"Bitch." 

"Just shut up and drink it," he sasses. 

I close my lips around the tube, sucking the blood out like it's water after running a marathon. It doesn't taste horrible like I expected. I guess my expectations are being exceeded because Dallon doesn't usually look like he enjoys processed blood from a bag. 

After finishing off the bag, I throw it into the trash can, as I've seen Dallon do hundreds of times before. 

"So...what now?" 

"I need to go get some things, you need to stay here and rest. Maybe cover up some. Sunglasses can help, too," he instructs. 

"Whoa whoa whoa, wait. Where are you going?" 

"To get more blood. We'll need twice as much now, thanks to me," he emphasizes. 

"No, Dallon, don't do that. Don't make yourself feel guilty over this. Please."

"Whatever," he says, grabbing the keys and walking out the door. 

I decide to take his advice and get some rest. I walk upstairs to my room, climbing under the covers after shutting the blinds. 

♢♢♢

I hear Dallon walk through the front door two hours later. Why did he need so much time to get blood? I usually only need about twenty minutes, the hospital is only five minutes away from here. He starts walking up the stairs, and I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. 

"Brendon, I'm not sure if you knew this or not, but I can hear your heartbeat. It's beating way too fast for you to be asleep." 

"Dammit!" I shout, opening my eyes and yanking the duvet off of my torso. 

Dallon rolls his eyes. "It's okay, you're supposed to have more energy after you drink." 

"Then why did you want me to take a nap?" 

"Because you need sleep to help your body transition better." 

I sigh. "I don't feel even slightly tired." I feel like I just drank twenty cups of coffee. 

Dallon sighs. "Oh well. Just try. I just wish I would've slept more when I was transitioning. I don't want this to be too hard on you." 

I nod, "Ok." He walks out of my room, closing the door behind him. I look down at my shirt. 

Why is this on my body? Why is it necessary? I mean, Dallon has seen me naked before. And, I like sleeping naked. So if it'll help, I should probably get naked. 

I take off all of my clothes, dropping them on the floor and not caring about where they're supposed to be. I climb under the duvet again, and fall asleep an hour later. 

♢♢♢ 

A shrill shriek nearly destroys my sense of hearing when Dallon pulls the duvet off of me. 

"BRENDON!!" 

"Ah! Dallon, do you have to be so loud?" I groan. 

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU NAKED?!" He shouts, gesturing to me. He seems a lot louder than usual. 

"I think the better question is, why are you not naked?" I smirk, despite the painful ringing in my ears. 

"SHUT UP AND ANSWER MY QUESTION," he shouts. I wince, covering my ears with my hands. 

"Well, why did you take the blanket off of me?" 

"Because I wanted to sleep with you, DUH!" He snaps at me. I raise my eyebrows. 

"Ugh, not with you, like, next to you! Pervert!" 

"Oh. Party pooper." 

"It's nearly ten o' clock, Bren. You need to switch your sleeping schedule around to avoid the sunlight," he says, gesturing to the light threatening to seep through the curtains covering the window. 

"Oh." 

"Go put some damn clothes on, nudist," he demands. He probably doesn't care that I'm not wearing any clothes (his pants aren't agreeing with what he's saying), he just likes making me do stuff for the hell of it. 

"Well, what if I like being a nudist?" I question. 

"Being a nudist vampire will not work out in your favor," he protests.

"I think I can make it work," I sneer.

"Whatever." He doesn't care. He was just shocked to see me naked, I think. 

"You love me. You know you do." I pull him onto the bed, wrapping the duvet around him. I cling to his side and bury my face into his neck. He rolls his eyes. 

"I do."


	3. Carpe Noctem

"Dallon, my head hurts..." I whine. This is not as fun as I'd it would be. Being a vampire sounds cool and all, but not right now, because my head feels like it's going to implode. Mornings are my worst enemy. I'm supposed to be asleep.

"Ok, ok, calm down. Do you need anything? Blood? Ibuprofen, maybe?" He suggests. 

"Just some blood, I guess..." I mumble. 

Dallon nods and proceeds to the kitchen, grabbing two bags of blood and walking back upstairs. Dallon throws a change of clothes at me. 

"Put on some damn clothes or you don't get anything," he demands.

"Aw, come on! I sleep so much better when I'm naked! I'll start wearing clothes when I'm better, I promise," I plead.

"You better," he snaps, handing me a bag of O negative. I puncture the bag, sucking out the blood lazily. He sets the other bag on the nightstand, just in case I wanted it later. 

Five minutes later, I feel full and refreshed. Not exactly energized, but I feel better than before. I hand the empty bag to Dallon, and he takes it downstairs to throw it in the trash can. I'm too tired right now to get out of bed and do anything. This is exhausting. My teeth, my head, and my eyes feel so sore. 

"Please, Brendon, get some sleep. I have plans for when you're done with all of this." 

"What kind of plans?" I ask. We haven't had sex in a long time, maybe we could just go at it for a whole day and get it all out. That'd be nice. 

"You'll just have to wait and see," he teases. I groan, and Dallon snickers. He knows I hate waiting. 

"It's not funny!" I shout. He walks out the door, trying to keep himself from bursting to a fit of laughter. I eventually fall asleep hearing Dallon whistle while he washes dishes in the kitchen. 

♢♢♢

I wake up with a strong metallic taste overwhelming my tongue. I see Dallon walking in, turning on the lights and taking off his ski mask. 

"Good morning sleepyhead, did you have a nice nap?" Dallon asks. 

"Uh, yeah, I feel a lot better." 

"Mm hmm, you look a lot better, too." 

I move my tongue around in my mouth, trying to see if I accidently bit myself while I was sleeping. What I find first scares me more than it probably should, as I knew these would grow in eventually. 

"Oh my god..." I mumble. "M-my teeth... they're all pointy." 

Dallon gasps. "That means you're done!" 

"What?" 

"You're done transitioning! Oo, now we get to celebrate!" He squeals. 

"What are we doing?" 

"Carpe noctem, Brendon. Carpe noctem." 

"Huh?" I tilt my head in curiosity. I don't think 'carpe' or 'noctem' have anything to do with screwing. That's disappointing. 

"It's Latin for seize the night, Brendon. We're going to do all sorts of crazy stuff!" 

"And, what do you mean by 'crazy stuff'?" I hope he gets the hint from the obviously seductive tone in my voice. 

"Get dressed. It's already dark outside, so you don't have to cover up," he says, ignoring my suggestion. 

"O...k... then..." I squint my eyes, attempting to read his mind and figure out what the hell is going on up there. After giving up, I get dressed in just a t-shirt and jeans, nothing special. 

"You got your ID, right?" Dallon asks. 

"You're taking me to a bar? Really?" I assume.

"It's a special bar."

"Like, a bar for vampires?" 

"Maybe, just get in the car." 

I climb into the passenger side of the car and Dallon sits in the driver's side with a smile. He starts the car, and plugs in a street name into the GPS on his phone. I don't recognize it. 

"Dallon, is that street even real?" 

"Brendon, just trust me, okay?" I hesitantly nod in response. 

He turns onto the highway, driving outside the city limits. There isn't anything out here but trees in a fifteen mile radius. 

"Hate to break it to you, buddy, but Lincoln is back there," I say, pointing behind us. 

"What did I say, Brendon? Trust me. I know where I'm going."

I raise an eyebrow and purse my lips. 

"You're using a GPS," I counter. 

"I just need it to get to a certain road. After that, it won't work." 

This raises suspicion. Is he really taking me to a bar? I don't think he's taking me to a bar. Bars aren't built in the middle of nowhere. 

We keep driving for another half an hour, and Dallon checks his GPS every few minutes to make sure we're going the right way. Eventually, he puts his phone away and turns onto a dirt road. I guess he can figure it out from here. 

"So, you've been to this 'bar' before, Dallon?" 

"Mm hmm. I think you'll like it." 

I nod and look straight ahead, watching Dallon turn right onto another road. On the right side of the road sits a large oak tree that we pass by quickly. The weird thing about this tree, was that it looked like it was completely coated with dried blood. 

"Um, Dal?" 

"Yeah, Brendon?" 

"Why was that tree covered in blood?" 

"Think of it as a landmark." 

"Oh...ok," I say. 

About five minutes later, Dallon turns left and starts driving through a dead cornfield. When he passes through it, we come across a completely leveled field. About 30 feet away, a large metal plate with a handle lays flush against the ground. Dallon steps out of the car and walking towards it, beckoning me to follow him. 

He pulls on the handle attached to cold metal. The plate swings upwards, acting like a bomb shelter door. A long set of stairs leads down to who knows what. 

"Down the rabbit hole you go, Bren." 

"This is a pretty special bar." 

"Yup." 

I walk down the stairs, and Dallon closes the 'door' behind him. A large black door stands at the bottom of the steps. 

"Just go in, Bren. It'll be fun, I promise." 

I open the door, and I'm greeted by numerous amounts of different color flashing lights. The room itself is bigger than I expected, with a bar in the corner and a dance floor making up the rest of the room. A wooden door stands a comfortable distance away from the bar. 

"So, you want drinks first?" 

"Uh, yeah, I guess." 

He pulls on my arm, leading me to the bar and pointing to a barstool. I sit down while Dallon beckons the bartender. 

"Hey, Zack! Over here!" 

A large man with a lengthy beard turns around, and walks behind the bar until he reaches Dallon and I. His fangs are very prominent, at least two inches past his lips. 

"Dallon, my man, good to see you again! Who's your friend here?" Zack asks.

"Zack, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Brendon. He just grew his fangs in this morning. Brendon, this is Zack," he says, pointing to him. Zack reaches with his hand over the bar, and I meet him in the middle, shaking his hand. 

"Uh, hi," I stutter. I don't know why, but his weight is slightly intimidating me. And having someone like Dallon next to me is just making me feel as small as an ant. 

"A baby vamp. I haven't talked to anyone like that in a while. You doin' okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm okay. I've been through two bottles of pain meds this week, but I'm dealing."

"Ok, ok, good to know that Dallon knows how to take of ya. Changin' can be a real bitch." 

"Can we get a couple of shots? Brendon hasn't tried vamp whiskey yet." 

"Oh ho, man, Dallon's been makin' you live under a rock! You gotta try this!"   
Zack turns around and grabs three shot glasses off of the counter behind him. He takes a bottle of Jack Daniel's, pouring a half shot's worth into each glass. Dallon has a huge grin on his face. I haven't seen him smile this big since the time I managed to loot a whole box of O negative from the hospital. Zack turns around again and opens a mini fridge hidden behind the bar. He takes out a bag of blood, opening the cap on the tube and filling the rest of the shot glasses with AB positive. He slides two of the glasses over to Dallon and I, then picks up the third and dumps it down his throat. 

"Down the hatch, Bren," Dallon says before drinking his own shot. I stare at the glass, wondering if this would actually taste good or not. It's probably just a vampire thing. Wait, no, it is just a vampire thing. Who the hell drinks blood mixed with whiskey? Not anyone normal, that's for certain. 

Before I can decide against it, I bring the glass to my lips and down the shot in one fell swoop. One liquid did not overpower the other. It was a prefect balance. These guys are pretty damn smart. 

"Zack?" I turn towards Zack, setting my glass down.

"Yes, Brendon?" 

I slam a twenty dollar bill on the counter. "I'm gonna need a few more of those." 

"Bren-"

"Nope, Dallon, like you said, I'm seizing the night. I'm going to have fun," I say, interrupting Dallon. He sighs, resting his elbows on the counter. I watch Zack make five more shots, and I drink them like they're water. 

A few more rounds later, and I'm doing just fine. Apparently the blood doesn't let you get very drunk. Like I said, vampires are pretty smart. 

"Brendon, come on, there's a strip club next door," Dallon says, pointing to the wooden door. 

"Nah, brah, I ain't even drunk yet," I say. This whiskey is such a good pain killer. My headache is completely gone, and so are the toothaches.

"No, Brendon, you're way past drunk. Maybe I should take you home instead." I nod, and think, maybe I am drunk. But I'm here to have fun. That's what I'm gonna do.

"No! I wanna see the strippers, Dal," I whine. Dallon rolls his eyes and starts pulling me towards a door. 

"Ooo, are we gonna go see the strippers?" 

"Yeah, there's a better strip club in town, though, if you want to go there instead," Dallon suggests. 

"Ok, yeah, let's do that." 

Dallon nods, leading me outside of the bar after saying goodbye to Zack. I follow him to the car, and manage to buckle my seat belt on my own. 

"Brendon." 

"Yeah, Dal?" 

"You haven't buckled in yet," he says, pointing to my seat.

"Yes I have." 

"No, you're just sitting on the buckle." 

"Am not!" 

Dallon reaches over and pulls on my seatbelt. It comes out from under me, and he puts the buckle in the right place this time, and starts the car. I don't really notice much on the way back into town, but I start to become tired. 

"Brendon, just take a nap, it takes longer to get back into town." 

"Okie dokie, then," I say, yawning. I lean my seat back all the way, and eventually fall asleep. 

♢♢♢ 

"Wakey, wakey, Brenny boo!" 

I roll over and scowl at Dallon, baring my fangs and showing him my middle finger. I can't believe he let me get that drunk. I got so bad I couldn't even have fun. 

Damn you, Vampire Whiskey.


	4. The Burn

I roll out of bed, and Dallon has a wide smirk on his face. 

"Why are you smiling like that?" I ask. 

"I have a nice breakfast cooked downstairs for you. I need to go and run some errands, because some of the stores aren't open late enough. But, I'll be back later, m'kay?" He says, pulling his blue ski mask over his face. He takes his gloves from the edge of the couch and slips them on, tucking the ends of his long-sleeved shirt under both of them. 

"Ok, be careful," I warn. 

"I will, don't worry." He picks up his keys and walks out the door, and rushes out to his car as fast as possible. 

I walk downstairs, and a large bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich sits on the island in the kitchen. I smile, sit down, and pick up my breakfast. Grease drips from the bottom slice of bread and onto the plate, making me smile in satisfaction. Crunchy bacon, scrambled eggs, and melted cheese, perfect for curing a hangover. Sadly, the sandwich only lasts for two minutes. I was starving, it lead to me practically inhaling the sandwich through my mouth. Oh well. 

My set of keys hangs on a hook near the door, and I remember that neither of us have gotten the mail in a few days. I slip on a pair of sandals, grab the keys, and venture out of the house. The mailboxes are about two blocks away because of the set-up of the neighborhood itself. Not very well planned out in my opinion, but it makes for good exercise. The sun is bright, and I look even paler than usual. I haven't even thought about telling Dallon to pick up that tanning lotion. It really speeds up the process so I don't have to sit outside for hours and hours on end. 

The summer heat warms me up fairly quickly, sweat already dripping from my hair when I reach the mailboxes near the front of the neighborhood. I collect the mail and speed-walk back to the house to escape the heat and the sun. When I reach the house, I set the small stack of bills and letters on the coffee table, jumping onto the couch and yawning. I wipe the sweat off of my forehead, roll over, and bring my knees to my chest. I close my eyes, and hope to god this headache will go away soon. 

♢♢♢

"BRENDON!" 

Dallo's shout startles me, and my arms and legs jerk violently in random directions. I look up and see Dallon with several shopping bags in his arms. 

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!" he asks as he sets down his shopping bags on the kitchen counter and rushes to my side. He presses the backside of his hand to my forehead, and a worrying look spreads across his face. 

"I-I-I went outside to get the... mail..." I trail off. I went outside. To get the mail. I notice the painful and blistering skin pressing against the couch, and tears start to pool in my eyes.

I can't believe I could be that stupid. Exposing yourself to sunlight is something that vampires always regret doing later. Dallon especially, he was practically traumatized by it. Now he has to wear ski masks and gloves everywhere. 

Dallon's eyes shine with tears as he brushes hair away from my face. He slips off his ski mask and gloves, placing them next to the bills on the coffee table and kneels on the floor next to the couch. He cards his hands through my hair as I break down in tears, both from pain and my own stupidity. 

"It'll be okay, baby... just hold on a sec. I'll be right back," he says. He stands up and starts walking away. I whimper, making him turn around to look at me. His protective instinct wins the battle, and he walks back over to lead me to the bathroom. 

He closes the door behind us and points to the toilet. I close the lid and sit down, and watch him turn the knob inside the tub. Cold water spills out and Dallon doesn't adjust it any further. If he thinks he can get me in there, he has another thing coming.

He walks out of the bathroom and down the stairs, and comes back two minutes later with several trays of ice in his arms. I shake my head. I know exactly what he's going to do with those. 

"No." 

"I didn't say you had a choice in the matter," he says in a bossy tone. He gestures to my shorts. I shake my head again. 

He sighs and picks up a tray of ice, and dumps the contents into the tub. He repeats the process with two more trays, and stares into my eyes. 

"I'm fine, Dallon, I don't need an ice bath," I plead.

Dallon steps closer to me to take a fistful of my hair, tilting my head up to look straight at him. "Get in the tub, or I'm cutting off your shorts and kicking your ass before you even put your pinkie toe in," he growls. 

I conclude that I'm probably not going to win this argument and decide to comply with his orders. I strip my shorts and boxers, and sit back down on the toilet, cringing at how cold the lid is. Dallon continues to dump the ice cubes into the porcelain bathtub until a thick layer of ice has formed at the top and the bottom of the tub can't be seen.

I've never had an ice bath before, but I've seen Dallon take one. It was back when he wasn't afraid to go outside. We had rented out a garage to set up a type of home gym for us to work out in so we could stay in shape. He had come home one day, completely exhausted, and (according to Dallon), very sore. He made me go out and buy several bags of ice from the convenience store. He poured all four bags into the bathtub, and absolutely dreaded putting himself in it. He only stayed in for two minutes, then spent the rest of the weekend covered up in blankets. 

Dallon pours the rest of the ice into the cold bath water, stacking the empty trays on the granite counter top next to the sink behind him. I shake my head and whimper, hoping my 'puppy dog eyes' can convince him to not make me do this. He rolls his eyes and takes out his phone, setting the timer for four minutes without pressing start. 

He points to the bathtub and bares his fangs. I shake my head again, and Dallon lets my answer slide for the last time. He takes my arms and pulls me off of the toilet, and I pull against him to try and free myself. His grip only tightens as he steps on one of my toes, popping a large blister that had formed. I bite my lower lip to keep from screaming in pain. I try to crouch down to protect myself from him, but he pulls me back up to a standing position, his fangs scraping against my neck. One of his hands holds both of mine behind my back, and the other is pulling my hair to tilt my head back to look at me behind him. His face hovers only a few inches above mine, and I can smell the blood on his breath. I can hear his heart beating faster than I honestly thought was possible. 

"This is your last chance to get in willingly," he says. 

I whimper as he releases me from his tight grasp. I press my lips together, struggling to swallow the excess saliva that had collected in my mouth. After a few moments of utter silence and stillness, Dallon grips my arm tightly. He's not going to let me leave until he gets what he wants. What a stubborn bastard. I take one more deep breath before raising a foot and setting it down in the water. I bite my lip, trying to hide the fact that this water is probably colder than Dallon's soul, if he had one. 

After I put the other foot in, Dallon takes his hand off of my arm. He picks up his phone. The tub is nearly full, so the water and ice reach halfway up my calves. 

"I'm not starting the timer until you sit down." 

"Why are you punishing me?!" I cry out. "This is torture!" 

"It's not 100 percent a punishment. It's going to draw out the heat of your burns, Brendon. But it'll also serve as a reminder as to why you should cover up when you go outside from now on. Understand?" 

I look down at my freezing, blistered feet and nod. I crouch down and place my hands on the edge of the tub, easing myself into the water. When I sit down, he starts the timer on his phone, setting it back on the counter and grabbing a small bucket from under the sink. He uses the bucket to pour the freezing water on my back and chest, managing to keep himself completely dry. 

The alarm goes off, and he pours a bucket full of water on my back one last time. My whole body shivers violently and my teeth continue to chatter. Dallon walks out into the hall and comes back with a towel. He helps me get out of the tub, and I sit on the rug in front of the tub because I don't want to waste my energy taking two more steps to sit on the toilet. He wraps the towel around me and kisses my forehead gently. Dallon pulls out the plug in the tub out to drain the water, and takes another towel from the hall closet. He dries my legs and my hair as gently as possible, as if somehow I'm made of glass. 

He picks me up and carries me to my room. I sit on top of my towel on my bed as Dallon picks a pair of boxers from my dresser. He helps me put them on and goes downstairs. He comes back up with a mug, steam floating from the top. He hands it to me, and I let my hands warm up before taking a sip from it. Irish coffee. I chug the rest, a nice, warm feeling settling in my stomach. 

"Now, don't pop the blisters. It'll hurt, and you might get an infection from it if you do," he says. I nod and place the empty cup on the nightstand. Dallon takes my laptop from off of the floor and offers to watch stupid cooking shows with me. I nod eagerly. Just because he's an asshole sometimes, it doesn't mean I can't forgive him. He's just trying to take care of me.


	5. Murder

The next couple of days are accompanied by pain and utter regret. Dallon doesn't force me into bathtubs full of ice anymore, opting for extra-cold showers instead. But nevertheless, my skin is healing nicely. 

"Brendon, I'm gonna go to work, are you okay?" Dallon asks as he buttons the shirt of his uniform. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. You'll be back at six, right?" I ask. 

Dallon nods. "Right."

His shift is twelve hours long, but it pays well for an IT guy. The hourly wage is increased for the night shift, so he basically gets a benefit for just being a vampire. It works out well for him. 

I walk to the living room and sit on the couch. I turn on the television to see that the 6 o'clock news is on. It's usually set to the cooking channel, but that doesn't matter. A picture of the hospital near our house is displayed on the screen. 

"And in today's news, a strange murder occurred behind the Lincoln Surgical Hospital last night around 2:30 a.m.. The police are pulling in investigators to evaluate the crime as autopsy reports show the victim died of blood loss. The victim, who is yet to be named, appeared to have multiple scratches and bites marks on his body, but he also appeared to have two large puncture marks on the left side of his neck. Police reports say the security cameras at the back of the hospital were disengaged by a pellet gun. Police are hoping that the DNA that was found on the body will lead to naming a few suspects. If you are able to provide information on this crime, call the number on your screen." 

"DALLON!" 

Dallon walks downstairs, and sees the hospital on the television. His eyes widen and he drops his jaw. 

"Oh, shit..." he mumbles. I stand up and shove him against the wall. 

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO!?" I shout. Dallon gulps and avoids looking at my face, not responding to my question. 

"DALLON, YOU MURDERED SOMEONE!" I see tears pool in his eyes, and he doesn't try to keep them to himself. He falls to the floor and lets out a sob. 

"I-I-I couldn't help it... I'm sorry," he says, sniffling. I kneel down and sit in front of him on the floor, and all I see is regret and guilt in his eyes. 

"But...why?" I ask, wiping away a tear on his cheek. 

"I-I was coming back from the hospital... I was so hungry, and he was kinda chubby... I hadn't had fresh blood like that in so long and I just-" he doesn't finish his sentence because he bursts into tears again. 

I can only imagine what he's going through. I've never had that kind of blood before, and after seeing Dallon like this, I don't think I'll ever want to. It seems as if it's some type of extremely addictive drug. 

"Maybe you should stay home tonight," I suggest. 

"No! I have to go!" He stands up, rubbing his eyes and grabbing his keys. He goes to the kitchen and takes a burrito from the top shelf of the fridge. 

I stop him before he reaches the front door and pull him back into the living room, gripping his wrist tightly. I take his burrito, slam it onto the coffee table, and turn to face him. 

"My burrito..." he whimpers.

"No burrito! We need to talk about this," I shout as I push him onto the couch. 

"Brendon, I'll look suspicious if I suddenly stop showing up for work right after someone was murdered!" 

"That may be true, but you're a wreck!" 

"I'm going to work, and you can't stop me," he says before standing up. He towers over me, baring his fangs and growling. 

"What if I can?" I ask. I really shouldn't be challenging him over something petty like this, but sometimes the want to win is just too strong. 

"Then I simply won't go," he spits out. 

He lunges at me, grabbing me around the waist and throwing me over his shoulder, and I land on the couch almost face-first, if it weren't for my hands. Dallon quickly turns around and flips me over, pinning me by my wrists to the couch. I take a cheap shot and knee him in the groin, quickly slipping out from under him and running upstairs before he can react. I hear him groan.

He quickly catches up to me at the top of the stairs, and shoves me against the wall. 

"Just give up. You know I'm going to win. I always win," he says, pressing a knee in between my legs. I shake my head, denying his offer of mercy.

"You never catch on, do you?" he asks. I don't respond. He drags me into his room and picks me up, throwing me onto the bed. He closes the door, quickly climbing on top of me. 

"Ok, ok, you win! Just let me go," I plead. 

"No, Brendon, you brought this upon yourself. You thought you could defeat me. Now for your punishment..." 

He climbs off of the bed, and walks to the closet. I know better than to move and disobey him when he's mad like this. He comes out of the closet with two pairs of handcuffs dangling from one finger. 

I groan. "Oh, come on Dal, please..." 

"No, you should've known better," Dallon says. 

He yanks my wrists and holds them up near the bed posts as he handcuffs me to his bed frame. 

"Now, you're going to stay there while I'm at work." 

"This is abuse, Dallon! Let me go!" 

Dallon bares his fangs and finishes buttoning his shirt. "I'll let you go when I get back." He leaves without another word. The door slams loudly, and heavy footsteps follow. 

I sit up, relieving the pressure on my wrists. I manage to take off my socks with my feet and wiggle my freed toes. I don't have anything to free myself with. 

I can't believe he would do this to me. Dallon, of all people. My boyfriend. Or at least I thought he was my boyfriend. 

♢♢♢

The door opens violently and closes with a loud thud. Dull, heavy footsteps make their way up the steps as I await for my so-called 'boyfriend' to free me. My stomach growls softly, another small wave of pain coursing through me.

"Well, well, well, did wittle Brenny learn his lesson?" 

"Let me go, you asshole!" 

He strides to the bedpost and takes the key out of his front shirt pocket. He climbs onto the bed and sits on my hips before unlocking my handcuffs. 

"Get off of me!" I shout. "I'm hungry!" 

Dallon rolls his eyes and rocks back and forth on my lap. I push him off of the bed completely and kick him in the stomach, satisfied with my revenge for the moment. I make my way into the kitchen and open the fridge to find no bags of blood anywhere. Becoming desparate, I slip on the ski mask and gloves that Dallon took off when he came home from work. I walk out of the house and keep an eye out for potential victims. 

I decide on a slightly chubby woman that can't be older than thirty. I follow her at a safe distance for a while until there aren't as many people around. As people disappear into other parts of town, I begin to question if I should really do this. Would it really be worth it? Yes. It would be. 

I drag the woman into some bushes and kick her legs to weaken her. Before she has the chance to cry out in pain, I close my hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. 

I make quick work, quickly pinning her to the ground and sinking my teeth into her neck. She stops screaming and writhing around after a few minutes, and I dump her empty body in a dumpster behind me. A heart beats a distance away. I gulp and turn around to see him standing at the end of the dirt pathway, mouth agape. Now I'm not scared because I just got caught murdering someone, I'm scared because of the person that caught me. 

"Dallon."


	6. Don't Mess with Dallon

"I-it's not what it looks like!" I shout. I didn't want to kill her, but I had gone without eating or drinking anything for twelve hours; I was hungry. 

Dallon pushes his hair back and sighs. "Don't even try, I was watching you through the window."

"Dallon, I'm sorry, please, I promise I won't do it again." 

He shakes his head. "Brendon, I'm not mad that you killed her." 

He glances over at the dumpster and opens it. He takes the brunette woman out and sets her on the ground, closing her eyelids. "I'm mad that you thought that you wouldn't get caught by putting her body in a dumpster," he says, gesturing towards said dumpster. 

He picks up the woman, carrying her back to the house and dropping her body on the floor of the living room with a loud thud. 

"Go to the bathroom," Dallon commands, pointing to the stairs. 

I wipe some excess blood off of my side of my mouth, my hands involuntarily shaking. "Wha-... why?" 

"Because her DNA is on you. So you need to wash yourself as much as possible. Shave everything you can, including your face. I'm going to work on getting your DNA off of her." Dallon takes the woman's shirt off and starts filling the sink with water. 

I walk up the stairs, stumbling over every other step. I eventually reach the shower and turn it on, quickly stripping my clothes. I step in once the water is warm enough to burn both my skin and the guilt of murdering a completely innocent woman who probably hadn't even turned thirty yet. 

I find a long, brown strand of hair on my shoulder, and quickly brush it off and make sure it goes down the drain. I follow Dallon's advice and shave off the small beard that I had been growing out lately. It was disappointing, but he was talking like he knew his shit. I washed every part of my body as thoroughly as I could, and put on a pair of pajamas before going downstairs again.

"Go get the clothes you were wearing. I need to bleach them," Dallon said. I made my way back up the stairs again, not bothering to argue that I was wearing one of my favorite shirts when I murdered her. I hand the clothes to Dallon, and he sets them down in the bleach on top of the woman's clothes. Her naked body lays face down on the kitchen floor, and I audibly gag at the sight. 

"Dallon... what are you gonna do with her?" 

"We'll wash her down with bleach and dump her body in a river. Can you go get the pair of pliers and the hammer from the tool box?" he asks. He's going through this almost too calmly, but I'm not going to make him freak out just to put myself at ease. I'm just surprised he's helping me. 

I walk to the laundry room, and grab the tool box off of the shelf above the dryer. I set it down on the floor and grab the pair of pliers and the hammer that Dallon asked for. I bring them back to the kitchen and hold them out for him. 

"Oh, those aren't for me. You're doing it." 

"Uh... doing what?" I ask. 

"You need to pull all of her teeth out and crush them into really tiny pieces, because they're too hard to blend in a blender. If they somehow manage to find her teeth, they'll be able to identify her a hell of a lot easier." 

My eyes widen. I crouch down and turn her head around, pulling out each tooth as fast as I possibly can. I take the teeth and set them on the counter, crushing each one with the hammer. 

"You okay, Bren?" Dallon asks. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say. 

"Go get the barbecue lighter." 

I stand up after crushing the last tooth, and take the barbecue lighter from the drawer on the other side of the kitchen. I hand it to him, and he turns it on, a small flame now flickering at the top. 

"How are you doing this without freaking out, Dallon?" 

Dallon paused for a moment and swallowed. "Because I've murdered more people than you can probably count." 

My breath hitches at his response. That's how he knows exactly what to do. He has experience. 

I kneel down next to him and take the lighter from him. "How many, Dallon?" I ask. 

"I don't know... I'm really old, Bren. Just, let me do this. Go upstairs and watch a movie or something," he says as he takes back the lighter. 

"No, Dallon, tell me. How hard is it to control yourself?" 

Dallon sits down on the floor, setting the lighter in his lap. "That guy on the news was number 2,236." 

"You...you count them?" The number makes me want to throw up.

"Every single one." I raise my eyebrows. How can he live with himself? How does he not break down in tears every time he's reminded of it? 2,236? It must be a lot harder to keep yourself under control than I thought. 

I sit down in front of him, watching his eyes. "Why do you count them?" 

I don't know why I asked that. I shouldn't have. Dallon stands up and clenches his fists at his sides. 

"So when I get down to hell, I can tell Satan himself just how much punishment I have to recieve for the exact amount of innocent lives I have taken! So I know just how many innocent lives I have to feel guilty for! And I can't even say I took them for a noble cause, because I am not a charity! I am not some thing to feel sorry for! I'm a monster, Brendon. A monster that deserves to be in the darkest depths of hell for the things I've done." 

Dallon's eyes glisten with tears, but they don't fall. His face is still red from shouting as he turns around and picks up the lighter. He takes the woman's fingers and burns them, for what reason? I have no clue. His hands are shaking so much that he almost burns his own fingers in the process. He sets the lighter on the counter once he has finished. He turns around and looks at me, my teeth, and my hands. His takes my hands into his own, and stares at my stained fangs. 

"I need to do something, Brendon. It's for your own good," he says gently. 

"What is it?" I ask.

He looks down at the floor. "You're not gonna like it, but it has to be done. I don't want you turning into me." 

My lip quivers. "Dallon, I can control myself, it was just one time, and that was only because you left me alone for so long without anything to eat..." 

Dallon shakes his head. "Brendon, I can't just take your word for it. I hope you understand that. I just need you to trust me." 

I press my lips together and look up at him. "Dallon, I'm sorry. I promise, it won't happen again." 

"Brendon, I'm sorry. I wish I could believe you. Now are you going to go willingly, or by force?" 

I rip my hands out of his grasp and take a step backwards. "No. I'm not going anywhere." 

"By force it is," Dallon says. 

"Over my dead body," I say. 

"That can be arranged." I gasp at his remark and run out the door and into the alley behind our house. Dallon is nowhere to be found. I quietly laugh at my own success and hide behind the dumpster. 

Dallon doesn't show up for another fifteen minutes, but a jet black mustang pulls up in front of the building. The driver steps out and readjusts his hair. It looks almost too emo for a man his age. But it looks good on him. I've seen him around before, he's talked to Dallon while getting the mail on occasion. He looks down the alley, and sees me failing to hide from his sight. 

That's when I figure out why Dallon even bothered to make his existence known to someone else besides me. 

He's one of us. 

I turn around as quickly as I can manage and sprint down the rest of the alleyway, turning right, I think. I don't remember exactly which route I chose, because I'm on the ground, fighting for consciousness. But the man makes it easy on me and kicks my head. Dallon wasn't screwing around when he was talking about taking me by force.


	7. Them

As I vaguely become aware of being conscious again, I hear Dallon and his friend having a conversation. I decide against opening my eyes so they won't know I'm awake. 

"Pete, I told you to get him and bring him back here, I never said TO GIVE HIM A F*CKING CONCUSSION!" 

"Sorry man, the little dude can run. I barely caught him. I kinda had to." 

"Whatever. Go get the stuff from the basement, he's awake already." 

"Ok." I open my eyes to watch him exit the room. Dallon walks across the concrete floor and looms over me. 

"Brendon, you can't fake being asleep around me. I can hear your heartbeat, remember?" 

I giggle and smile, because he's acting like a goofball. He's so silly sometimes. 

"Yeah, I know..." The giggles are not helping me right now. "Hey Dallon, remember that time you smoked the marijaunas?" 

"Brendon, I don't smoke. You do sometimes, though." 

"No, Dallon you're like, lying. Remember that one time you did so many marijuanas, I had to call the fire department and make them take away your marijuanas?" 

Dallon sighs. "Brendon, I have never smoked marijuana." 

Dallon's friend enters and sets a cardboard box on the table across the room. I giggle again, trying to convince Dallon he's just being forgetful. By now I've concluded that they've drugged me, but I haven't the slightest clue as to what they could've used. The laughing ensues.

"Dallon, I am 99% sure you gave him too much. He's higher than a kite," he says, sitting in the chair in front of the table.

"Shut up Pete, I know. But it'll wear off in a little bit," Dallon says, turning to face Pete.

"Maybe you could just give me your marijuanas, Dallon. I won't waste them, I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die, or stick a needle in my eye," I say. 

"Can I give him another concussion?" Pete asks.

"No, Pete. We only need to be here until Saturday, anyway." 

"But it's Monday," he complains. 

Dallon sighs. "I know. But we can't go too fast with this stuff. We're already giving him a lot." 

They both leave and shut the door behind them. It seems like forever before they come back. There aren't any windows in this room, so I can't even take a guess. 

After trying to raise my hand to try and attract Dallon's attention, it fails. Dark brown leather straps keep my wrists and ankles attached to the table. There is also a loose strap near my head. A whimper spills from my lips, making Dallon turn his head. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" 

"What're you gonna do to me?" My hands are shaking. I try to grab onto something to still them, but to no avail. 

Dallon leans over and rests a hand in my hair. "Don't be scared, Bren, please, it won't make anything better. Just try to relax." 

He turns around, and I pull against the leather. Nothing happens. My heart rate quickens. He's going to keep me here forever. I won't see any of my friends ever again. I'm trapped down here against my will. My freedom is with Dallon, tucked away in his back pocket, never to be seen again. He's going to kill me. I never thought how lucky I was with normal breathing. My most basic need has been stripped away and now rests in the hands of my anxiety. Man, I wish I could have more of that stuff they gave me earlier.

"D-Dall, Dallon!" I choke. Sweat rolls off of my cheeks and down my neck. He strides to the table and opens the box that Pete carried in earlier. I can barely see over the top, but it's enough. Hundreds of syringes lay inside, filled with a blue liquid. 

"We might as well start now." He takes a syringe out of the box and drops his head. 

"I'm sorry," Dallon says. I can't control my breathing anymore. My heart rate has gone out the window. The nausea is becoming harder to keep at bay. Dallon walks to the door and locks it with a deadening click. 

"Dallon, what the... hell... is in that..." 

"Brendon, it's nothing to freak out over. It's not gonna hurt you." 

Him dodging all of my questions is what's scaring me. If it really was nothing to worry about, he would've told me. He could kill me with that. 

"No...D-Dall, please no..." 

He ignores my pleas and hooks up the syringe to the IV, and pushes down on the plunger. The fluid burns as it travels up my arm. I writhe around as much as I can, hoping that maybe the straps will break and I can get the hell out of here. By now I've accepted that I probably won't be conscious for much longer, due to Dallon's refusal to put my mind at ease and tell me what he injected me with. Tears well up in my eyes, and I don't bother trying to keep them in. I already look like an idiot, why not just go for the gold? 

Dallon walks over to the table again and closes the cardboard box. He throws the now empty syringe away, but I can barely see him. I pull in unconsciousness gratefully, trying one last time to break free of the straps. 

♢♢♢

"Dallon, are you sure it'll even work?" Pete asks. 

"Pete, it'll work. He's only had fresh blood once," Dallon says. 

"Ok, whatever you say, man."

I don't know what I'd do if my legs were free. How would I free my hands? That's what's more important. 

"Mornin' sunshine," Pete says. 

"F*ck off," I slur. 

I turn my head to the side and avoid their gazes. Only looking at two people and a wall gets creepy (and boring) after a while. I attempt to adjust my arm to be more comfortable, and a jolt of pain shoots up my arm, making me groan. They didn't kill me, but they sure as hell did something. Moving my legs produces the same result. 

Dallon's watch alarm goes off, and he walks to the table again, pulling out another syringe. This time I'm not as scared. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's still terrifying, but I'm pretty sure I won't pass out this time. 

"Oh come on, Dallon, can't we work something out? At least tell me what's in it." 

He completely disregards the fact that I even said something in the first place, and uncaps the syringe to expose the needle. I try squirming around again in an attempt to escape. The straps don't budge.

Someone knocks on the door, and Dallon places the cap over the syringe. It seemed as if it were a special pattern, like a secret code or something. I sigh in relief anyway, thankful for whoever might be behind the door. 

Dallon opens the door to find Pete completely drenched and caked with dried mud. The pitter-patter of the rain outside was somewhat calming, though. 

"Dallon, we gotta hide. It's them." 

Dallon only nods. He walks back over to me, unbuckling the leather straps. Pete takes the cardboard box off of the table and pulls out a set of keys, unlocking the door. It looks like it's meant to be a kind of hidden door. Dallon takes my chin and forces me to turn his attention to himself instead of Pete.

"You will stay quiet, or I will sew those lips shut. Do you understand?" Dallon says.

I nod in response. I sit up, realizing I won't be able to walk on my own. Dizziness must be a side effect of that blue shit they've been forcing into me. Pete rushes into the room, taking the box with him.

Dallon sets a large section of tubing in my lap, carrying me through the door and he sets me down in a recliner in the corner of the room. He drapes the tubing over the back of the chair and walks to the other side of the room where Pete is hiding the box of syringes under the bed in the middle of the room. I want to ask why they're doing all of this, but I remember Dallon's threat and decide to stay quiet. 

"So... What happened?" 

"A couple of people were driving behind me when I was coming back from the grocery store downtown, and I didn't realize until I was on the highway that they were following me. They shot at my tires about five miles down the road from here. Luckily they only nicked it and I could drive for a bit longer, but then I had to make a run for it. We should stay low for a couple days, make sure they're not coming back." 

"So you're sure it's them?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure." 

"Who's them?" I ask without realizing I shouldn't be talking. Curiosity is human nature. Pete gives Dallon his keys, and he locks the door. He then turns to face me, clutching the edges of his long sleeves. 

"Hunters."


	8. Back Home

The next few days are a blur, filled with nothing but severe dizziness and hunger. Dallon and Pete seem as if they're on the edge of being stir-crazy. Neither of them have jerked off at all this week, so I'm surprised they held out for so long without stabbing each other. Eventually Dallon gives in and storms out, taking a half-empty bottle of vodka with him. 

"Pete..."  

"He'll be back, don't worry." 

"Hmm... ok." 

Pete walks to the bed, kneeling down and grabbing the box of syringes from under the bed. I've had so many doses, I lost track at about thirty. And that was on Wednesday, according to Pete. Now it's Friday, I think. It's been hard trying to keep track. He stands up and empties the box onto the bed. Four syringes fall out and clash against each other. Pete stares at them for a while before speaking.

"You know... you could probably have the rest of these all at once. Then after they wear off, you'll be better. 100 percent. But it'll be a lot worse than what you've been goin' through." 

"I don't give two shits about how I'll feel, Wentz. Just do it." 

Pete shrugs and picks them up, holding one syringe in between each of his fingers on one hand. He uncaps the one in between his pointer finger and his thumb, letting the cap fall to the floor. I turn my head to watch him, but look away after the second dose. I need to focus on not passing out. 

A minute later, he faces me and taps my shoulder. 

"All done. You ok?" he asks. I shrug and let my eyes droop. He turns to pick up the caps and throws them into the trash. 

"You can go to sleep, you know. It's normal." 

"Don't wanna." 

He sighs. "Whatever." 

I try my best to not fall asleep, but eventually I give up because there's no point in staying awake. Dallon is outside (more than likely getting drunk off his ass) and Pete is starting at his phone. 

♢♢♢

The door slams loudly, rousing me from sleep. Glass clashes against the wall and falls to the floor. Most likely the bottle of vodka that Dallon probably emptied.  

"Dallon, calm the hell down," Pete says. 

"I CAN'T CALM DOWN! THAT BASTARD BIT ME ON THE ARM, I NEED TO GET MY REVENGE ON THE LITTLE F*CKER. WHERE'S THE FLAME THROWER?!" Dallon shouts.

Pete sighs and takes Dallon by the arm. He leads him outside and shuts the door. 

"Ah, much better. Glad we got that sound-proofed. Sorry for waking you up, Brendon," Pete says. 

"Izz mmkay..."

"Brendon?" 

I look up at Pete, who is no doubt suspicious about me trying not to pass out. When everything is spinning, it's hard to concentrate on forming coherent words. Incoherent words, though, are a breeze. 

"I donn know, ha da rada bub."

He sighs and continues to stare at his phone. 

♢♢♢

Dallon's screams barely make it through the wall, but Pete and I hear them. So much for sound proof. Pete stands up and pulls a dagger out of a holster in his pants. 

"Brendon, you need to stay here. I'm gonna lock the door when I get outside. Just be quiet, okay?"

"Hmm."

He steps out of the door and locks it quickly. Not much noises come from the other side of the door other than grunts and yelps. 

Twenty minutes later, a loud hissing noise disrupts the silence. It's not the most pleasant noise ever. Someone starts banging on the walls. Are they looking for me? They eventually reach the door, it sounds different than the other sounds the wall was making. If they have decent hearing, it wouldn't be hard to notice the difference. They hit the door again, and again. Then a stronger thud hits the door. I can't do anything, so I just sit back and watch.

A couple minutes later, I hear the knob to the door unlocking. Pete has come to rescue me! When the door opens, I don't see Pete. Or Dallon. I don't even recognize them. They're both about the same height, but one has bright red hair. The other has tattoos of random lines on his arms. 

“Oh, that's why they've been hiding! They're drugging his boyfriend! This is sick, man,” the red haired man says. 

“You get his legs, I'll get the rest of him,” the other man says. 

The red haired man takes my legs, while the other walks behind the back of the recliner. He reaches down to the inside of my elbow to rip out the IV. I don't put up a fight, because frankly, I can't. If I hadn't had four doses of that blue shit, I might be able to, but I could barely handle a single dose. I can only vaguely focus enough to comprehend the fact I'm being kidnapped. 

They carry me out of the hidden room, then the room I was originally in. After a set of stairs and multiple aversions to actually cursing, they carry me outside to their car. I hope they kidnap Pete and Dallon too, because then I'd actually have a chance of getting away. 

"We can just put him in the backseat, he doesn't seem like he can do much anyway," the red haired man says. 

"Are we gonna get the other two?"

"No, we don't have much time before that stuff wears off. Plus, I think one is good enough for them to handle. We haven't gotten one in a while," the red haired man says.

"Yeah, that's true."

They both nod to each other and drop me in the backseat. They both climb into the passenger and driver seats and speed away. 

We drive for a while, and I become bored quickly. I soon learned their names; Josh was the one with red hair, and Tyler was the one with the weird tattoos. 

I would give anything for a watch right now. At least I could entertain myself by watching time go by, hour by hour and minute after minute. At least there's trees outside, they're not a bad sight. 

The sun is starting to rise before we drive into a city I come to recognize as Lincoln. Maybe they'll take me home, and give me a bubble bath before tucking me into bed with nice, soft blankets. I know they won't do that, but one can hope. 

A few questions rang through my mind. How were we so far away from the city? Why did we need to be so far away from the city? But most importantly, what do these guys want from me? 

The drugs are starting to wear off. I'm not nearly as dizzy or wreak as I was when we started driving. I could try and fight them when we stop. I'm not saying I could take on both of them at once, but I might be able to hurt one or both of them and keep them off their top game for a while. Then I could try again later and have a better chance, because I'd know their weak spots. 

I can tell from the tops of the buildings that we've reached the downtown area. They drive for a bit longer, while Josh and Tyler have a meaningless conversation. Directions, mostly. 

We wind up at an older house a while later. It's not exactly ancient, but it was probably built around ten to twenty years ago. The bricks are cracked in places, but it looks like a strong house with good bones. 

Josh and Tyler step out of the car and open the back doors. I curl up instantly, hoping they'll just leave me here. The sun is shining brightly, and I don't plan on getting burned again. 

"Get the cuffs out of the back," Josh says. Tyler nods and retrieves them from the trunk, tossing them to Josh. Josh forces my hands into the cuffs, which fortunately aren't silver. They wrap a bandana around my head, over my eyes. After kicking and writhing around to try and get their hands off of me, I give up. There's no use. The only good thing is that we're in Lincoln. That should make the search for me easier, I think. 

The inside of the house smells like copper. Don't know exactly why, but it's enough to make me shiver. 

"Well hello, boys, what do we have here?" A man asks.

"We caught Dallon's boyfriend while they were drugging him, Patrick, sir. Don't know why, though," Tyler says. 

"That's okay, we should be able to get some info from him. Put him in the back with the others. I don't think Melanie has a cellmate, they should get along well," Patrick says.

"But sir, Melanie is-" Josh starts.

Patrick interrupts. "I don't care what she is. Two per cell. You know our system." 

"Yes, sir," Tyler says. 

I'm curious as to what Melanie is, but I guess I'll find out soon enough.


	9. Blurryface

The cell is cold, dark, and humid. A single light bulb in the hallway outside of the cell is all we have as a light source. The rusting steel toilet in the corner seems to be a luxury. No beds, just a tattered, blood stained blanket in the other corner. Meals consisted of single slice of bread with a single slice of ham, and a small cup of water. How nutritious.

Melanie hasn't said a word, she's only shown me two large, parallel wounds on her back. I'm guessing they're from wings or something like that. She broke down in tears when I asked what happened.

Eventually she became comfortable enough to talk to me, but she was very quiet. 

"How did you end up here?" she asks. 

"It's kind of a long story," I say. I pick at a loose thread in my shorts and hope she won't try and dig into my personal life too much. 

She sits up properly and crosses her legs. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we have time. Plus, I love a good story." 

I place my hands in my lap and look down, trying to find a place to start. "Well, my boyfriend made me into a vampire. We've been taking blood from the hospital and drinking that for years. But of course that wasn't enough for Dallon, so he went out and sucked someone dry. Didn't even feel bad about it. I tried to make him stay at home and rest, but he got mad and handcuffed me to our bed before he went to work. He came back like, twelve hours later, and let me go. And I got like, really hungry, so I went out and murdered a random lady off the street. Then Dallon's friend, Pete, kidnapped me and he and Dallon took me outside of Lincoln and forced a shit ton of drugs into me for almost a week, and it made me really dizzy and stuff. Then Josh and Tyler somehow knocked out Dallon and Pete and kidnapped me, and brought me back here. Now I'm sitting with you, telling you my story. What's yours?" 

She cleared her throat. "Well, first off, I'm a fairy. I was going through the area I was assigned and doing my job, which was helping bees find flowers to pollinate. After I was done for the day, I changed to my human form and hid my wings. But I forgot to hide my trail, so Josh and Tyler found me and kidnapped me. They brought me here and ripped my wings off to sell at an auction. Then they found out my powers were renewable, so they found a wizard to help them drain them. They have to do it every once and a while, or I'll become powerful enough to break out." 

"Wow," was all I could say. She nodded and curled into the blanket in the back corner and fell asleep rather quickly. I used this opportunity to take a piss without worrying about her seeing things that fairies probably wouldn't like seeing. There was nothing to do after that, so I slept. On concrete. 

♢♢♢

The sound of a cowbell resonated through the hall. I sat up and groaned, massaging my aching back. Other prisoners woke up as well, yawning and stretching. 

"Up and at 'em! We're doing spray downs today! Patrick came in here yesterday and said you guys smelled like shit," Tyler says. He left with Josh, slamming the metal door behind them. All of the prisoners groaned except for me. I was oblivious as to what a 'spray down' was. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with water, though. 

"What's a spray down?" I asked. A man with red hair that was in the cell across from mine sat up and faced me. 

"Every once and a while, they take us one by one to a room and blast ice cold water at us though a really big hose. They don't use soap, though, so it doesn't really do anything as far as cleaning goes. No one likes it at all." 

I nod bite the inside of my lip. "Thanks for the heads up, I guess. What's your name?" 

"Oh, I'm Gerard, and that's Frank," he says, pointing to a short man sitting on top of a blanket. He waves at me, and I return the gesture. 

"So, how'd you guys end up in here?" I ask. 

Gerard turns around to look at Frank, then back at me. "Me and Frankie were doing a favor on Earth for a friend and we forgot to change out of our demon forms before going out. So, dick-bag Dun and jackass Joseph here trapped us in one o' them fancy circles, cuffed us, and dragged us here." 

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear about that." 

"At least you're not immortal. Me and Frankie are here to stay." 

I open my mouth and bare my fangs at them. "Well, I'm a vampire. I'm close enough." 

Gerard raises his eyebrows. "A vamp, huh? I'd avoid a few people around here, they caught a couple werewolves a few months ago." 

"Ok... so, what do you guys d-" 

Tyler barges in and shouts, "First up is Melanie, we can get you drained while we're at it, too." 

The entire hall shouts in protest, and Melanie cowers in the corner under her blanket. 

"C'mon, anyone but her!" Gerard shouts.

"Yeah, take me instead!" Frank says. 

"Ok, Frank," Tyler walks up to his cell and unlocks it, and Josh quickly handcuffs him. They lead Frank out of the hall, shutting the metal door behind them. 

"Why didn't you guys want Melanie to go first?" I ask. 

"Well, there's a few reaosns. First off, not only is she a fairy, but she's never done anything wrong and is super nice to everyone. Second, the water is super cold the first few times, and she got a bit of frostbite one time. Lastly, she goes through more than all of us. They weaken her while we sit on our asses and do nothing." 

I hum in reponse. Melanie weeps quietly, wiping her tears away with the blanket. 

"Oh, Melanie..." I walk to the corner and kneel next to her, petting her head. She sniffles a few more times and uncovers her face with the blankets. 

"See? There's that beautiful face." She grins and rewraps herself tightly in her blanket. 

Everyone volunteers to go before Melanie and I to make sure we got the warmest water (which wasn't all that warm, according to Gerard). Tyler walked back into the hall, shoving another prisoner into their cell. 

"Ok, Melanie, it's time. Get up." 

"Wait, Tyler, I haven't gone yet," I say. Tyler sighs and nods. "Well, come on. I don't have all day." He unlocks the cell, Josh handcuffs me, and leads me out into a maze of corridors and hallways. Josh eventually turns to face a door, pulls out a set of keys, and unlocks the door. Inside, the walls, floor, and ceiling are all made of concrete. A large drain lies in the center of the room, and a single, bare, light bulb illuminates the entire room. Josh pushes me to the center of the room, close to the drain. I feel naked and exposed standing in the center of the room like this, even though I have clothes on. 

The water washes over me all at once, like an ocean wave that's thirty feet tall just came crashing down on my skin. It's so overwhelming and cold, but it was over quickly. They led me back to my cell, water still dripping from my hair and clothes. Josh took Melanie before I had a chance to protest. 

"The water wasn't super cold, right?" Gerard asks, still shivering. 

"Nah, it wasn't that bad, she'll be okay." All of the prisoners in the hall cheered. It was a pretty decent day after Melanie came back. 

That night, I stayed up pretty late trying to figure out a way to bust out of here. Tyler walked into the hall a while later, muttering to himself. When he approached my cell, I pretended to be asleep and tried to understand what Tyler was saying. 

"You can't control me, Blurryface. See? I'm checking on them to make sure they're okay. And I'll feed them extra food tomorrow. And when I get rid of you, I can get Josh back, too." 

His voice changed abruptly, now low and deep. "No. I have control over you forever. Josh is a lost cause. You should just give up and throw yourself out the window and do everyone a favor." 

Tyler's voice changed again. It was a weak and raw version of Tyler's original voice. "No, I will get rid of you eventually. You aren't who I am, someone is bound to notice. You changed me." 

His voice didn't change, but Tyler pulled out a pistol out of the waistband of his jeans. He turned the safety off and pointed it at his head. 

"No!" Tyler screamed. He started pulling the gun away from his head, it looked as if he was fighting someone invisible. The pistol fell to the floor and Tyler ran out of the room just before Frank woke up. 

"What was that?" he asked. 

"Um, I don't know. We probably shouldn't worry about it," I say. 

Frank shrugged. "Yeah, guess you're right. Good night, Brendon." 

He rolled over and faced the wall, wrapping an arm around Gerard.


	10. Tyler

Everything is hazy. I stay on the floor and wait until everything stops spinning before I try to stand up. 

"Who the f- Who the f*ck do you think you're dealing with? I will shove my foot so far up your ass- hold on, I'll call you back later." Pete hangs up. 

"Hey Dallon, you okay?" 

I nod. "Yeah, I'm okay. What's today?" 

Pete gives me an odd look. "It's still the 3rd, Dallon, we were only out for a couple of hours. Are you sure you're okay?" 

"I swear, Pete, I'm fine," I say. 

It's probably safe to assume they took Brendon, which explains why they left me and Pete here. I stand up and open the hidden door, seeing an empty recliner. It wouldn't make sense for Tyler and Josh to show up, knock us out, and just leave. 

Blurryface ruined their lives. It forced Tyler and Josh to turn to a life of crime under Patrick's orders (Well, I mean, not really. A demon possessed Patrick long before Blurryface even mattered). They were so nice before all of this started, I had only been a vampire for a few months when they kidnapped me for the first time. 

"Well, are we going back to Lincoln or what? We know where he is, Dallon." 

They most likely took him to their main headquarters in downtown Lincoln. We should be able to get him out easily. "Yeah, I guess," I say. 

Pete and I finish packing our things and put them in the trunk of my car. He takes the keys away from me before I can try to convince him I'm good enough to drive. That gas has really weird after-effects. I decide to nap in the backseat, all relaxed and sprawled out. We should be there by sunrise, considering the sun is only just now setting. 

♢♢♢

Pete shakes me awake and tells me that we were stopped a couple times by cops, but we were here. The sun is low in the sky, I guess Pete had to take his time charming his way out of getting us arrested. I climb out of the car, open the trunk, and pull out four pistols: two for me and two for Pete. I take a few daggers and tuck an extra pocket knife in my shoe. 

"You ready?" I ask Pete. 

"All good to go." It wasn't the first time we've been here, but it's been a while. We've had to rescue friends from here over the years (Not Brendon, fortunately. I've been good about keeping my vampire life separate from my normal life. But now that Brendon's a vampire, I can't help what he gets entangled into). I know all of the ins and outs of this place. 

When we bust the door down, no one comes speeding to the door like they usually do. We don't question it, though. 

"Can you go down to the cells and get Brendon? I'm gonna go try and find Josh and Tyler," I say. Pete nods and proceeds down the dimly-lit hallway. I turn right and pad into the kitchen, where Josh is kneeling next to Tyler, who appears to be unconscious. 

"Tyler! Tyler, please wake up!" Josh shouts. I walk around the kitchen island to get a better visual of Tyler. His throat is swollen and has a bit of vomit leaking out of his mouth. A spilled bottle of bleach lies in the corner, and I quickly take advantage of Josh's vulnerability and handcuff him. Blurryface is probably posessing Josh since Tyler can't do anything. I don't know how he manages to possess both of them so well. Switching back and forth between them has got to get annoying eventually. 

"Hey, don't worry. I'm gonna go call 911. Tyler's gonna be okay," I say. 

Josh nods. I pull out my cell and dial 911, and the operator says that they'll be here as soon as they can. 

I walk down the main hallway and down towards the basement where the cells are. It seems that Tyler and Josh have been collecting more than I thought. Almost every cell is full. 

Pete is at the end of the hallway, holding a girl wrapped in a dirty blanket. Brendon is sitting next to them, petting the girl's hair. Pete looks up and sees me, and beckons me over. 

"She's a fairy. Brendon said they drained her powers yesterday." I nod and turn around, clearing my throat. 

"Are there any demons around here?" 

"Right here, buddy." A red haired man raises his hand, along with his cell mate. 

"Cuff them, Pete, and put them in the trunk. I've got an ambulance coming for Tyler to take him to the hospital. We can take the fairy home, too." 

"But, wh-" Pete starts. 

"Don't ask. Just do it. I'll tell you why later," I interrupt. 

Pete nods and stands up with the fairy in his arms. Brendon follows him to the car, and I walk back to the kitchen. The doorbell rings, and I answer the door to see the paramedics. 

"He's in the kitchen. My number is on the counter. I'll come to see him tomorrow." 

I quickly drag Josh out the door and to the trunk of the car. It's a tight fit, but I make it work. 

"What're we gonna do with 'em, Dallon?" Brendon asks. 

"Just hold your horses, Bren." Brendon nods. 

After dropping Pete off at his place, I drive back to my house and instruct Brendon to help the fairy get inside. I pull out a pistol and open the trunk. 

"Ok, let's establish something real quick. I have a gun, you don't. So I suggest you not f*ck things up for you and your demon friends. Cool?" 

All three of them nod and step out of the trunk. I follow them through the front door and nudge them to sit on the couch. Brendon tugs at my shirt sleeve.

"Melanie wants muffins." 

"She's the fairy, right?" I ask. Brendon nods. "Well then, make muffins." 

Brendon slumps his shoulders and proceeds to the kitchen. I turn to the three men sitting on the couch. 

"So, Blurryface, how've you been? I'm sure that stunt you pulled back at the house made you feel real good." 

Josh's irises turn to a bright ruby color. His voice becomes deep and rough. 

"I've been good. And yeah, watching Tyler trying to drown himself in bleach was very amusing." 

Brendon drops the egg he was holding and gasps. Gerard and Frank also jump at the sudden change in his tone. Blurryface laughs. 

"So, what's my purpose? You haven't exorcised Cerron or Tanlor yet either, so we must be of some use to you." 

"You are. But I'm going to wait until Tyler gets back from the hospital. But, until then, you're staying here. Well, actually, I've got a circle in the spare bedroom." 

Brendon sets the bowl of muffin batter on the counter. "Ok, what the hell do you mean by 'circle'? And who's Cerron and Tanlor? Seriously, you're confusing me with all of this lingo." 

"Oh, silly boy. Silly, little, oblivious boy. Cerron and Tanlor are the two idiots that chose punks as vessels," he says, tipping his chin at Gerard and Frank. "Everyone knows punks are suspects for this kind of thing." 

A girly voice overtakes Frank. "At least I don't try and murder my vessels. I'd like to actually come back to them from time to time." 

I take out my gun again and press the barrel against Josh's forehead. "This is not the time for friendly conversation. Now, I want answers. What does Patrick's demon want with those other monsters he's got locked up at his place?" 

"Why would I tell you?" Blurryface says with a chuckle.

"Because I can send you back to hell. I thought you might like staying on Earth better, though." 

"That's true. But... thing is, I don't know what Hansor is doing with them." 

"Ok, I'm gonna go easy on you cuz I'm tired. So, I'm giving you until tomorrow after I bring Tyler back from the hospital to come up with a better answer." 

Brendon sets the muffins in the oven and closes the door. I grab Josh by an arm, and ask Brendon to lead Gerard and Frank to the spare bedroom. Melanie can sleep in Brendon's bedroom. He doesn't sleep there much anyway, except when we're fighting. I shove Josh to the floor. Brendon does the same with Gerard and Frank. 

"So, I'd suggest not moving unless you enjoy death," I say, pulling up the edge of the rug to reveal the edge of the Devil's trap I spray-painted on the floor. 

"Dallon, you spray-painted my floor?!" Brendon shouts. 

"You never noticed," I shrug. 

"That doesn't give you permission to vandalize my room!" 

"Well, you didn't object to it," I say with a grin. Brendon stomps out of the room with a groan. 

I walk to my room and shed all of my clothes except for my boxers, stashing the weapons I was carrying in the drawer of my nightstand. I decide to go to sleep early; I haven't slept on a decent mattress in a week. 

Tyler isn't going to like waking up in the hospital tomorrow. He doesn't necessarily associate positive thoughts with them.


	11. The Parking Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by 'Tag you're it' by Melanie Martinez

Sleeping is boring. Therefore, I've elected not to do it. sure, lack of sleep has physical effects, but they're nothing I can't get over. Coffee works well enough.  

"Mm, thanks for making the muffins, Brendon, they're delicious," Melanie says. Brendon sets down a cup of coffee in front of my plate of scrambled eggs. 

"Make sure you drink that, Dall. I know you didn't sleep last night." 

"I'm fine, Brendon. And you're not my mom." 

"Just drink the damn coffee." I finish off my scrambled eggs and coffee. Melanie continued to scarf down muffins as Brendon prepared more batter.

"I'm going to visit Tyler," I say. 

Brendon nodded, I took my keys, and left. 

The hospital was quiet. Patients were walking with nurses, doctors walked by at times. I walked to the receptionist's desk. 

"Hi, I'm here to see Tyler Joseph?"

"In room 709. It'll be on the left. Visiting hours are over at eight p.m.," the receptionist says.

"Ok. Thanks," I say. 

I walk to Tyler's room to find him sitting in a chair and flipping through a magazine. He's wearing a different gown than the patients I saw on the way to his room. Pure white, no strings tied in the back. No pockets. The bathroom door had a large window, and the door to his room was made entirely of glass. Everything seemed to be bolted to the floor: the bed, the machines next to the bed, his chair, and the bench on the other side of the room. It's expected that the doctors would put him on suicide watch. After seeing Tyler like this again, I remind myself that I need to get him out of here as soon as I can. I knock on the open door, trying not to scare him. 

"Tyler?" I said. Tyler looked up and closed his magazine. His smile was painfully fake and trying to cover up his true feelings, but I applaud him for at least trying to be optimistic. 

"Oh, hey Dallon." Tyler dropped his magazine on the floor and looked over at his IV bag, which was full of saline. 

"The doctors told you what happened, right?" I ask. Last time he tried to kill himself, he didn't even know where he was when he woke up, much less why he was in the hospital in the first place. 

Tyler looked down at the floor. "Yeah."

"It was Blurryface, right?" Tyler nods. I sit on the edge of the bed. Last time it wasn't Blurryface, it was his own depression, and he didn't even believe in that kind of crap. I don't even think he likes believing in it now. 

"Well, I'm gonna try and see what I can do to get you out of here." 

"I already talked to the doctor, Dallon. He said I could leave in a week if nothing bad happens and everything goes according to plan. Trust me, I hate being in here as much as you do." 

I look up at him and nod. It's hard sometimes, you can't just explain to the doctor that you were possessed by a demon that made you try to kill yourself and that you're perfectly fine. You have to pretend this part of the world doesn't even exist around normal people. You can't tell them, they'd just shut you out and call you a liar. 

"Brendon... I have something to tell you." We have been dating for almost six months now. He has a right to know. If we're ever going to get married, he needs to know. It's getting harder and harder to keep it a secret around him, I need to tell him myself before he catches me drinking blood and freaks out. 

"What is it? You know you can tell me anything, Dall."  

I gesture to the couch, and he sits down with a small smile on his face. I bite my lip and sit next to him, taking his hand in mine. 

"Brendon... you need to know this if we're going to stay together. I'm... I-I-I'm a vampire." I breathe out as he snickers. 

"Yeah right, and I'm a werewolf," Brendon jokes. I look into his eyes and bare my fangs. Brendon's eyes widen and takes his hand out of mine, and stands up. 

"Dude, really, stop kiddin' around. Who'd you get to do your teeth like that?" he asks. I stand up as well, and look down at him to see true fear in his eyes. 

"Brendon. They're not fake. Think about it. Why else would I only work the night shift and only go on dates at night? Why else do I avoid garlic and your jewlry? Hmm?" Brendon squints his eyes.

"Prove it. Put your fangs away, and then take them back out, and keep your mouth open."  

I did as he said, all while keeping my mouth open. Brendon's hands shook, but he grabbed his shirt to try and conceal it. 

"B-b-b-b... WHAT THE HELL?! YOU'RE A MONSTER! I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST YOU!!" Brendon runs to the other side of the room and covers his neck with his hands. 

"Brendon, I don't want to kill you. I don't even want your blood. It's not the right type for me. And why would I kill someone I love?" I instantly cover my mouth with my hand. We haven't said  'I love you' to each other yet. Vampires tend to find their soul mates rather quickly, and become very attached to said mate as well. I kept that under wraps until now. Great, now he'll leave me for sure and I'll be left alone for the rest of my life. 

Brendon drops his hands. "Y-you love me?"  I nod hesitantly. "I-I-I... I love you too..." The corners of his lips curl up into a sweet smile. We walk and meet in the middle of the room next to the coffee table. We don't kiss, it's just a tight hug. A comforting embrace, not like ones you would normally have when you see them come home from work or school. Everything seems to be in the right place. It's a hug reserved for special occasions, when you know you're both completely open to each other. No secrets. 

I walk out to the parking lot, and search my pocket for my car keys. I click the unlock button and see the light blinking on the rear lights. 

"Hey," A voice says behind me. I turn around to see two burly men, heavily tattooed, and armed with guns and knives. I take a step back. 

"It's Dallon, right?" A man with a beard says. I nod, and take another step back. They both take a step forward in unison. 

"Do you guys, uh, need something?" I ask. A man with a dark-colored afro bears his knife, and grins. 

"Yes. Patrick wants you," the man says. I immediately take off in a sprint, and a knife speeds by, inches away from my face. I start running in a zigzag pattern to decrease my chances of being shot in an important place (you know, my heart? That's pretty important to a vampire). Another knife misses my arm by a few inches, and it encourages me to pick up the pace. This parking lot is easily the biggest in town. Small islands of trees surrounded by bits of curb and concrete are sporadically placed near the middle of the lot. 

A gun shot sounds, and I manage to escape being hit by a bullet. Three more, and I've been marked by one. The silver burns and leaves a putrid scent of burning flesh that creeps into my nose. It didn't hit me well enough, though, it's almost as if I've been tagged. Seeing as I'm not 'it', I decide to keep running. 

After about ten minutes of straight sprinting, my pace begins to slow down. I may be in shape, but running in a zigzag for over a mile is tiring. They haven't managed to hit me again since the first time, I consider that an accomplishment. Neither of the men's speed hasn't even begun to slow down, they just don't seem to stop. 

I've rounded the hospital three times now, and I haven't found a way to safely get inside. Giving up is not an option, though. I can't let them get me, Patrick would probably kill me. 

A hand grabs my shoulder, and I fall backwards onto the hard pavement. The barrel of a gun presses against my back and a knife rests against my throat. 

"Patrick could make some killer profit off o' those teeth of yours," the dark-haired man says. I squirm around, and the knife cuts into my neck, blood leaking into my shirt. 

"Stay still, girlie, or do we have to take you to Patrick in a bag?" 

"Try me," I threaten. I've taken more than them before. It took a while, but I came out on top. Height is one of the best advantages you can have when fighting. I kick upwards and then backwards, hoping I can nail him in the face and get out of here. 

"Gladly," he says. A gun shot blasts through my ears, and a sharp pain shoots up my spine. I can't move, and I can feel blood trickling down my back. I shouldn't have tried him.


	12. The Law of Conservation of Mass is Stupid

Cold. Dark. Lonely. I don't know how else to describe it. There's old trees, but most of them are burned, in the process of burning, or rotting on the ground and being used as shelter for some of the smaller monsters. 

There's no sunshine. Only gray skies and a low fog. There's no method of tracking time. I hadn't pictured it like this. I thought it'd be like hell. I thought that was where I was going. Hell, where your punishment is mostly between you and Satan. But instead I was sent here. Where what you did on Earth doesn't matter to anyone. Where it's literally kill or be killed for all of eternity. 

Purgatory. 

♢♢♢ 

I've died five times so far. Relocated to new places after every death. Rivers run into lakes here and there, sharp bones and twigs and lightly warn-down passageways that lead to shelter (or a trap, that's how I died the third time). I haven't killed anyone, and I don't plan on doing it unless I have to. And I don't have to, I have nowhere to go. I can just die. 

I find other paths here and there, but decide against following them. I follow the bank of a nearby river instead, maybe I can find somewhere to go. It seems pointless having nowhere to go, having no purpose to my actions. I thought I didn't have a purpose on Earth, but now I'm here, I realize that I actually have no purpose in Purgatory. I did have a purpose on Earth, there was so much to do and see. I just hadn't found it before I died. And now I'll never have the chance to find it. 

Bubbles float to the surface of the water of the river a few feet away from me. I continue walking, and think nothing of it. The bubbles follow me in a trail, and I stop. The bubbles stop. That's a creature breathing. What creature exactly, I don't know. It jumps out of the water and attacks me, ripping at my chest and neck. I don't even get a chance to see what it looks like. One thing is for sure though, and that it smells horrible. Acid mixed with rotting flesh. Blood is everywhere, and I scream and sob in pain at the sharp teeth digging into my neck. What makes the pain worse is that no one cares. Other monsters pass by and think nothing of it. They know I won't be gone forever after this. I'm just a source of food to this creature, whatever the hell it is. 

Everything hurts. The feet of the monster have some form of spikes on their feet that dig into my thighs. Not much longer after that (thankfully) I die again. But being materialized then reconstructed isn't the fun part of the process. It makes me want to rip myself apart again. No satanic form of torture could match this. It hurts so much that being unconscious would be better than this. In fact, never experiencing anything ever again would be better than this. 

I see the overcast clouds again as I always have seen after I die. I don't stand up. It's not worth it. Not if I'm going to be brutally murdered again. Vampires are one of the only creatures in this place that look like humans all the time. It makes me an easy target, I don't transform. I am what I am. I'm not some Pokémon that has a final form like 90% of the monsters here. I can't hide.

Even the dirt seems chilled. I run my fingers over the fresh scars and sigh. I've seen monsters that have more scars than real skin. That will soon be me, I know that for sure. Maybe I'll get so many scars that the actual skin I have will seem like scars compared to the rest of my body. I touch a large, raised scar on my neck. It now covers the scars from when I was turned. 

I walk down an alleyway as a shortcut going home from work. It turned two miles into almost a half of one mile. I almost thought I would have to get back into shape just to be able to walk home. I don't have enough for a car, but another year of savings and I'll have enough for a down payment. I tried to stay hopeful.

Feet shuffle a distance away. I turn around quickly and see nothing. They must've hidden. This part of town is pretty sketchy, but it's not like I'll get killed for walking past someone's drug deal. Punched and threatened, maybe, but not much more than that. Gun shots go off in the distance, and I pick up my pace slightly. 

Someone reaches out and grips my arm tightly, pulling me to the ground. Fists rain down on my face until I see the backs of my eyelids and dream of nothing. 

It smells of dirt and blood. People are talking, but I can't understand what they're saying. Maybe it's just because they're far away, or the people who knocked me unconscious somehow damaged my ears as well. 

"Oh, look who's awake?" a voice says. I guess they were just far away. My head aches and my throat is as dry as a desert. Clear tubes are running into both of my arms, medical tape sloppily covering the entrance points. A short man ambles to me and chuckled. 

"How're you likin' the smack? It's clean, but good, huh?" Oh wow. I'm high. What a surprise. I shake my head. I promised myself that no matter the circumstance, I'd never do any kind of street drug. It's too risky, but overall expensive. And I'd get arrested at some point, I'm terrible at lying and hiding stuff. 

"Pat, can we just turn him now? He's been on it for a while, don't you think he's had enough to last?" Another man says to his shorter counterpart. 

Pat sighs. "Ok. Do it. But keep him on it. He'll need it." 

The other man whines. "But you didn't let me or Andy have it while we were turning! Why does he get special treatment?" 

"Because he's going to be an important aspect. And I didn't have enough for that when I was turning you and Andy. So quit your bitching and go get more of the smack from the basement." 

The other man groaned and left, and kicked at the dirt floor as he walked. Pat turns to the bag of smack (whatever the hell that is, probably heroin, but I don't know for sure) and lifts a section of the tube, flicking the bubbles. 

"I'll probably get Andy to do it, he's clean unlike Joe. Or, I could just do it myself. I'll be quick, I promise." I whimper as Pat leans towards my neck, and bites down hard. I groan and lean away from him, but he goes with me. He lingers for a few more seconds and draws back, wiping my blood off of his chin. Two fangs hang past his bottom lip. It doesn't hurt much anymore, the smack must be some sort of pain killer. 

"Welcome to the clan, buddy. You'll make tons of vampire friends here. You just gotta change first. Then we'll take you out on the town and let you have all the fresh blood you want," Pat says. 

"V-v-v-vampires aren't real..." I say. I may be high, but I know when people are talking nonsense. 

Pat laughs. "Oh, they're very real. We just don't like involving ourselves with humans. It'd just complicate things if they found out." 

A man walks in with a small cardboard box and sets it on the floor next to my chair. He sees the holes in my neck and groans. "Seriously, Pat? You're taking away all of the fun." 

Pat rolls his eyes. "Just go get Pete. He's better with the newbies than all of us." 

"Yeah, whatever," the man says. They both leave and lock the door behind them.


	13. Brendon's an Idiot (According to Pete)

I walk around the corner, seeing him draped over several other dead bodies.

"No..." 

"Brendon?" Pete calls. He walks into the room as well, to see Patrick's (or his henchmen, Pete told me Patrick doesn't do much of the dirty work himself) latest victim. "Oh shit..." 

Pete grabs my arm and drags me out of the room, and I try my best to fight him, to try and get back into the room. He's dead. Dallon's dead and I need to be with him. Pete shoves me against the wall and stomps on my foot. I groan as he pushes me to the ground. Before I know it, both my hands and feet are tied together and Pete is carrying me outside. I squirm around to try and free myself, but Pete's hold on my legs is like a vice. I can't just leave Dallon's body there, he needs a funeral, a burial, I need to say goodbye. 

"Let me go, Pete! I need to see him! Just one last time, Pete, I swear," I cry out. Tears fall onto my cheeks and the sidewalk. Pete just grips me tighter and continues walking away from Patrick's house. He unlocks his car and drops me onto the grass. I roll over onto my stomach and attempt to crawl away, but Pete kicks me in the stomach, making me turn onto my back. He presses his foot on my chest, pinning me to the ground. I thought I could trust him. Dallon was friends with him for a reason, but I have yet to find that reason. He helped drug me against my will, and now he's basically kidnapping me to keep me away from my dead boyfriend (who I really need to be with). I wonder what other traits make him such a wonderful person. 

"You can't see him again, Brendon. I'm sorry. I'll have to explain it later when you calm down a bit." 

I don't know what he's talking about. I am calm. I'm as calm as a f*cking cucumber. "Pete, let me go, please, I am calm, I just want to see him!" 

"Brendon, it'll only make it worse. You need to trust me." 

I squint my eyes and stare at him for a moment. It doesn't seem like he'll do anything, but my gut is telling a different story. Pete opens the back door of the car and shoves me into the backseat. 

"I need to see him Pete, you don't understand-"

"I understand perfectly. Seeing your dead mate will only make things worse. Now shut up, or I'll make you shut up. I'm not driving for two hours to hear you whine about him." 

Pete slams the door and climbs into the driver's side of the car. He drives us out of the city and into the middle of nowhere. I let out a sob and let the tears spill onto the leather seats. I just need to hold his hand again, see him smile, watch him walk and trip over things because he's so damn clumsy. I need to eat one of his homemade pizzas. I need to feel his lips on mine. I need to hear his heartbeat, smell him, all of him. 

The car stops. Pete turns off the engine and steps out, and metal creaks and thuds a distance away. He comes back to my side of the car and grabs my bruised feet and my sore hands. I squirm and struggle against him, but all he does is drop me on the ground. He closes the car door, and picks me up again. 

I don't fight against Pete when he's walking down the stairs. I don't want him to drop me. He sets me down gently on the concrete floor as he goes to turn on the lights. I know I've been here before; I can smell it. Vodka and sweat. When the lights turn on, the table with the leather straps is standing in the middle of the room. The pole is still there, the one that held that bag of fluid they kept hooked up to me while they drugged me. The dents in the wall and the hole in the secret door are still there from when Tyler and Josh kidnapped me. I whimper and curl away from the room itself and face the wall. 

Pete shuffles around. "Brendon, you can't go back home for a while." 

"You better start explaining shit and have a damn good reason for it, or I'll murder you when I get out of these ropes." 

Pete walks over and carries me to the 'secret' room and throws me onto the bed. He turns on the lights and closes the door. 

"He didn't do a very good job of explaining things about vampires dying, or much about vampires for that matter. See, we're very passionate. When you find a mate, you're mates for life. So when a mate dies, we go kinda nuts. It's vampire imstinct. And being around him and reminding yourself of him isn't gonna do you any good. You need to move on and accept the fact that he's in hell and you're on Earth, and that's just how it is now," Pete says. If I wasn't tied up right now, he'd certainly be dead. 

"He's in hell?! He's not actually gone?!" 

Pete presses his lips together. "I shouldn't have said that. I should NOT have said that. But yes, Brendon, he's in hell." 

I struggle against the ropes. "Then you have to kill me! I need to see him again!" 

"Brendon, it doesn't work like that. Hell is really really big. Too big for you to go try and find him. It's just not worth it, believe me," he says. He just doesn't understand. My heart literally hurts. 

"It's my life, Pete, I can do whatever the hell I want. And if I want to go to hell, I should be able to do so without some douchebag screwing everything up for me." 

Pete shakes his head. "You don't understand, Brendon. You don't need to go go hell unless you die. Killing yourself just because your mate died is stupid. Now if you keep causing problems, I'll tie you to the table out there," Pete says pointing to the door. 

I nod. Pete lays down on the rug next to the floor and practically passes out. Maybe he has a pocket knife in his pocket or something. I lean over and look at his back pockets, and see nothing. I decide to let him sleep for a bit longer so he's really out of it. I don't know for sure if he's a heavy sleeper. 

After what seems like forever, I roll over to the other side of the bed and fall onto the floor, landing on my back. I roll over again and face the wall, taking a deep breath before leaning my head back and slamming against the wall as hard as I can. A small dent shows up and a cloud of drywall dust puffs up. 

I roll over again and look under the bed to see Pete still sleeping on the other side, on the floor. I turn to face the wall again, and repeat the process until blood starts getting left behind on the wall. I kind of feel bad for not leaving a note, but I'm desparate and I don't have anything to write a note with. I try one last time, and that seems to do it. I rest my head on the floor and take a moment to congratulate myself on my problem-solving skills. I just need to die, and I'll be one step closer to him. Nothing is stopping me at this point.

That is, until Pete is standing over me with his lips pressed together. 

"Idiot."


	14. Just Go Away

Sometimes I keep him around as company. 

Other days the sight of him makes me want to feed myself to a monster. 

He only shows up when I really need him. I've started to gauge my mood by when he appears. There is only one time where he always shows up for certain, and that's after I die. When I come back, he's always there to tack on emotional pain after the physical pain of being put back together atom by atom. 

"Hey. Maybe you should try and eat that one. You don't have to be at the bottom of this food chain, Dallon," Brendon says, pointing to a small nymph. I look over and will myself to make him vanish, not in the mood to talk to anyone right now, whether they're real or not. 

However, it's not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes I can feel him hugging me, sometimes I can actually smell him. Other times, all he does is bother me and jump around like an idiot as he did when I was alive. Like right now. 

"Come on, Dallon, you don't even have to kill it. Just take some blood. Who knows, it might be better than fresh human blood." 

"I said go away, Brendon!" 

With that, he materialized into nothing, and left me to my thoughts. 

Instead of being upset and crying about it, I've decided to accept the fact that I'll be here forever and that I'll never actually see Brendon again. I did love him, but I'm dead. I'm not grieving like Brendon is, but I'm not happy about being in Purgatory. 

I roll over on my 'bed' (a small pile of dirt with a slightly larger pile of dirt as a 'pillow') and Brendon wraps his arms around my waist like he did when I was alive (and having a bad night and didn't feel like interacting with Brendon was a top priority).

"Please, Brendon, go away." 

He only tightened his grip on me, determined to not let go. I don't know how he seems to have a mind of his own. Maybe my subconscious mind is what's screwing with me. My face feels hot with anger and sadness, and tears are spilling out when Brendon reaches to pet my hair. It's not comforting, it's just a cruel reminder that I'll never see him again. I try to push him away, but he doesn't seem to budge. I give up and let sobs rack my body until I don't have the energy to cry anymore.

I wish I could just turn back time and be with Brendon again. He was always there when I cried. But before Brendon, Pete was the one I turned to when I had problems. He even helped me with my first one. 

♢♢♢

He walked in and closed the door gently, unlike Patrick had when he felt the need to close doors. He was short, dressed in nearly all black, and had a bit of a dried red liquid (not blood, blood was darker) on the edge of his lip. 

I turned my head and forced my eyes open to take a better look at him. "Who are you? Are you Pete?" 

He nodded. "Yes, I am. Patrick makes me take care of all the baby vamps." 

"When am I gonna get out of here?" 

Pete pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "A couple days, until you're done transitioning. But after that, you're still pretty much Patrick's bitch. He's gonna watch you like a hawk." 

The idea of someone looking over my shoulder and dictating everything I do is not exactly my idea of a good time. It's almost the exact opposite, actually. I just want to be at home, with no one. I don't need love. 

"I'm not anyone's bitch. Let me go, I'm not gonna let Patrick control my damn life." 

Pete's eyes widened. "He can help you find a mate, Dallon. He's not homophobic either, he can hook you up with whatever gender you like. Just give it a chance." 

I just want to be home. "Are you gonna help me out or what?" I asked. 

Pete gestured with his head to the corner of the room on the ceiling. A red blinking light. A camera. I guess Pete's on my side, then, if he bothered to mention it. He shook his head. He raised the volume of his voice slightly to make sure the microphone heard him. 

"I can't help you. You're stuck here. I'm sorry." 

Pete had his back was turned to the camera, so it didn't catch him slipping a piece of paper under my hand. He made sure that all of the paper was hidden under my palm, and walked out. 

I took the piece of paper out from under my hand and read the note. 

I'm on ur side. I will get you out of here. I've got Pat wrapped around my finger, it won't be hard. But I'd suggest against rejecting that heroin you've got. Transitioning is a bitch. Staying high will at least take the edge off. 

I crumpled up the paper and kept it under my hand as reminder that are still good people in the world. 

♢♢♢

Brendon was back again, holding me while a small puddle of mud had formed below my eyes from the tears. "Hey, why are you crying?" 

I shove him away and stand up, taking a step back. "Brendon, stop it! I don't want you here, you don't need to be here, just get f*ck out of my face, please!" 

Brendon stands up and walks away. That was when I regretted not having someone to hold, even if they weren't real. My mind is trying to save me from myself, and I'm being an idiot for not accepting its help.


	15. A Deal with Satan

"Brendon, do you think you'll be okay?" Pete asks. I nod and rest my head on my shoulder. I've been strapped to this table for a long time. I have no idea how long it has been exactly, I just know that my wrists and ankles are chaffing against these straps and my ass is sore. 

"Ok, then," he says. "But you have to promise me something." 

I nod. I'm not exactly over Dallon yet, but I've got Pete believing I am. It's worked out so far, I just need to keep behaving like I'm not crazy and Pete will let me go. I just need to be with him. 

"You need to tell me if you're going nuts. I've got more meds, I can knock you out if I have to. Just please, don't be stupid, okay?" 

I nod again, and Pete assumes that I've made a promise. I'm in the clear. 

The thing is though, is that I never said 'I promise.' 

♢♢♢

"Ah, yes. Brendon Urie. I've been wondering when you'd show up. You were due to arrive last week, actually. But, better late than never, right?" he said. 

I look to the ground at my chained feet. My chest still hurts from dying. I didn't know there was an after-effect of death. "Y-yeah... I guess," I say. 

"It was that Pete guy keeping you on Earth. Sedating you and strapping you to a table seemed to reduce the urge, it seems." 

I take in a breath and look to the side. Fire, everywhere. Red, scolding rocks and a blood-red sky. It's hard to focus on a conversation when you're busy worrying about burning to death. But I can't really go anywhere from here, so that's reassuring, in a twisted way. "Well... if you put it that way... but it was more of a preventive measure, I think." 

"Hmm, yes, that is a possibility." 

He turns to the side and snaps his fingers at a small, horned, red skinned person. "Fetch my cannibis Lilian, our new arrival is getting a bit anxious." 

I'm assuming he's Satan himself, but it's not really what I expected. I was expecting an asshole that tortured people 24/7. This guy is getting me weed. This probably isn't hell, maybe he's like, the king of purgatory or something. Pete said no one knew if purgatory was actually real, that it seemed too horrible for anyone to actually wind up there if they died. It was known that purgatory is worse than hell, so I'm probably in hell if this guy is giving me weed. 

The little person leaves and comes back with a silver platter piled with weed and rolling paper. I shake my head and look up at the man sitting on his throne. 

"I need to see Dallon. Where is he?" 

"Oh honey, he's in purgatory." 

My eyes widen. I sink to my knees, and the man snaps his fingers at Lilian. She walks back up to him and hands him the platter. I don't even care who this guy is or if I should care about being embarrassed in front of him. I break down into tears and sob. I did so much just to find out he's not even here. I did my waiting, I persevered against Pete and killed myself just to find Dallon. And he's not here. 

"What do you mean he's in purgatory!?" I shout. "No, he has to be here! You're lying! Tell me where he is you lying son of a bitch!" 

"I am not a son, I am the father of all demons. And I'm not lying. Here." 

He snaps his fingers again, and a cloud of dark smoke appears over his head. An image begins to develop. It shows Dallon, or what's left of him in a much darker and gloomier setting than hell. He's screaming and sobbing, being torn apart by a creature three times his size. The creature finishes him off and scampers away, with Dallon's blood still leaking from his mouth. 

The cloud disappears and Satan takes a drag from the joint he finished rolling. "Put me in purgatory. Now," I say. 

"No can do, bud, you gotta earn it. Inter-dimensional travel is risky and reserved for demons high up in command, such as myself." 

"Ok then, how do I earn it?" 

He squints and sits upright in his chair, as if he didn't expect my response.

"Doing my dirty work. Errands around here, mostly. If you get lucky, I'll even make you an emperor of your own little section of hell. But if you act like a little p*ssy and don't do what I say, the deal's off. Got it?" 

I nod without hesitation, and Satan snaps his fingers once again. A long piece of paper appears out of thin air, dropping to the ground at my feet. 

"Read that over and sign it with your blood, then it'll be official." 

I pick up the piece of paper, and walk out of the room. A loud clap of thunder crackles through the air, and suddenly I'm in another room, with a dirt floor and barred windows. 

Anything to be with him. You're already in hell, there's no going back now. 

I begin to read over the contract, stating various jobs and errands I'd have to do for him. It doesn't seem like it would be too hard. Stealing, murder, just typical sinning. I let my fangs drop and cut the back of my hand, and dip a finger into the small pool of blood to sign my name at the bottom on the dotted line. The paper catches fire and disappears. 

I get up and walk around a bit, passing a sign that says:

Welcome to Plexor, population 598. Hail Ashley. 

I'm guessing this 'Ashley' is their emperor. I keep walking down the main road, seeing demons hung by their necks from street poles, others dragged along the ground and beaten, and ones who hide in the alleys between buildings from those with more power than they do. 

A feminine-looking demon (do demons even have gender?) approaches me and crosses her arms, seemingly staring into my soul (though I don't even know if I have one. This is hell, after all). 

"You're new. And Satan's bitch already, it seems." Was it written on my forehead or something? I made a deal with Satan so I can find my mate. 

"Um, hello, who are you?" I ask. 

"Ashley." 

I turned around, remembering the sign. Hail Ashley. I don't know if I should get on my knees and kiss her toes, or if I should do anything at all. 

"From the sign?" I say, pointing behind me. 

She nods. "One and only. But don't worry, I've got your back. Just don't cause a mess that I'll have to clean up, and we'll get along fine." 

"Ok," I say. She walks past me and stands next to the sign, greeting another demon that passes by. I continue down the dirt road, passing beaten down houses and other buildings. 

First errand, Brendon. A voice says. Satan's voice. I stop walking to pay closer attention to what he needs me to do. 

I need you to take back what's mine. Ashley's had it for centuries. The ruby. 

I nod, assuming that Satan can see me somehow. I mean, he could see into purgatory, why wouldn't he be able to see me here? Good. You've got a week to get it back to me. 

Guess I've got work to do.


	16. Hail Brendon

"Whoa, kid, what the hell do you think you're doing?" 

I look up and see a tall man crossing his arms. He's littered with tattoos, has one of the sharpest jawlines I've ever seen, and black hair like the night sky on Earth. He's beautiful. 

"Um... I, uh..." I've been looking through this chest for the past two hours, and its contents are spread out across the floor. It took me almost two hours to try and get in here, but I'm having no luck in trying to find the ruby that Satan wanted. From what I've heard, this is supposed to be Ashley's stuff.

The man uncrosses his arms and walks closer to me, kneeling next to the chest. "Well, obviously you're looking for something. Since this is Ashley's place, and the only valuable thing she owns is a ruby, I'm gonna assume you're looking for that. Am I right?"

Oh, shit. I let out a small chuckle. "Y-yeah... it's not for me, though." 

He looks up at me. "Are you serious? How stupid are you to make a deal with Satan?" 

I stand up. "I made that deal for a good reason." 

"Well, lemme hear it," he says. 

"He promised he'd give me the powers to get to purgatory. My boyfriend is there. I-i was a vampire on Earth and he was my mate." 

His eyes widen. "Oh... you know, he might be too, uh, messed up for hell." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Well, from what I hear, in purgatory, it's just monsters hunting and killing each other 24/7. I've heard stories about people who come to hell from purgatory having a lot of panic attacks and being afraid of literally everything." 

I gulp and look down at the chest. I tip it over, frantically trying to find the ruby. The sooner I find it, the sooner I can get him back. I empty another box next to the chest and find nothing. The man just stands there, not stopping me, but it doesn't seem like he approves of what I'm doing. 

The door on the other side of the room opens. Ashley steps in and gasps at the the sight of the mess. "What the hell are you doing, man?" 

Too many people are getting involved, complicating things. My original plan was so cut and dry. Now it's like a tangled ball of yarn. "Y-y-y-your ruby, s-satan, i-i-i'm so sorry Ashley, I just want Dallon back!" 

"Hey, hey, calm down, what is this about?" 

I take a deep breath and wipe away a few tears. "I-I-I just want Dallon back..." 

"Well, how do we get him?" Ashley asks. 

I look up. "A p-portal..." 

"He's in purgatory?!" Ashley asks. I nod. 

"Why didn't you tell me? Dude, I love making portals. Sure, purgatory isn't totally amazing, but hell gets a bit boring at times." 

"Y-you're gonna make me one?" 

"Oh, hell no. I'm giving up my position as Emporer of Plexor. It helps actually have the power so you can get back here. And I'm sick of dealing with these idiots, running around and causing trouble. You look like you'd do better than I ever could." 

Ashley grabs my hand and drags me outside, all the way to the sign at the beginning of Plexor. The man that found me follows suit. She takes a knife out of her pocket and scratches out her name, replacing it with mine. 

Welcome to Plexor, population 598. Hail Brendon.

"Ok, now that that's done, I need to teach you how to make a portal. Just watch." Ashley takes the same knife and holds out her wrist, and makes a small cut no more than a couple inches. She uses the blood to draw a circle with a square and a star inside of it on the side of a building nearby. When she's done, she steps back and the portal opens. Coldness radiates from it, sending chills down my spine. She gestures towards it and wishes me luck before walking away. 

"I'm coming with you," the man says. He steps in front of the portal and crosses his arms. "It's too dangerous to go alone. And you don't even know how to find your mate. I can help with that." 

"I don't even know your name," I say. 

"Andy," he says. "Now, come on." 

He shoves me through the portal, hanging on to me as we're both dragged into purgatory. Inter-dimensional travel isn't the best, but I'm hoping I don't have to do it very often. 

Purgatory is similar to what I saw when Satan showed me. No sunshine, barely anything but trees and a low fog near the ground. Andy walks around to take in our surroundings before walking up to a tree. 

"Pull your fangs out, I forgot my knife. We need more blood to get to your mate," Andy says. 

I lick my teeth a few times and my fangs do eventually pop out. "Are all demons supposed to have a knife or something?" 

Andy holds out his arm. "No, it's just extremely useful." 

I hum in response and scrape my fangs along Andy's arm lightly, barely drawing blood at all. He rolls his eyes and squeezes out what he can to draw a symbol on a tree with his finger. 

"Ok, now concentrate on him. We should show up to him quicker if w-" 

The symbol in the tree sucks both of us in and before we know it, we're at another location very similar to the one we were originally at. And not even ten feet away, Dallon, barely recognizeable, is laying in a shallow hole. I don't even know what to say. 

"Just... m-make it quick. I'm not g-gonna f-fight you." 

"Wow, your boyfriend kills himself and goes through hell for you, and this is how you respond? Brendon, are you serious? You need a better boyfriend," Andy says.

Dallon quickly rolls over and screams, scrambling to get out of the hole. Once he does escape his hole, though, he starts to run away from Andy and I. 

"Get away from me, Brendon, I told you to go away!" he continues to run, and I'm too flabbergasted to do anything. Andy does chase after him and catch him though, and brings him over to where I'm standing, frozen. 

"Brendon, make the symbol. We gotta get him out of here." 

I only understand symbol and out, so I'm assuming Andy wants me to make the portal thingy. I shake my head to try and clear my thoughts, reaching down to my wrist and biting. I walk over to a tree, and Andy is close behind me with Dallon thrown over his shoulders. I draw the symbol, finishing the star and sticking my hand into the portal. It sucks me in, and Andy and Dallon too, apprently, because they're there when I'm back in Plexor, rubbing my temples and trying to breathe again. 

"Ashley!!" Andy yells. "Over here, quick!" Andy lays Dallon on the ground, lightly pinning him by his shoulders. Ashley jogs to them, and Andy starts explaining what happened, and blah blah de blah blah blah. Ashley and Andy both carry Dallon into one of the buildings down the street. I follow them only because I'm determined not to let him out of my sight again if I can help it. 

"No, no, get away from me!" Dallon shouts. He's writhing around, trying to get free of several demons attempting to hold him down to a bed. 

I walk near the bed. "STOP." 

Everyone freezes. Even Dallon, surprisingly. It doesn't stop the tears or the whimpering, but he's not moving. "Dallon, it's okay. You're not in purgatory anymore." 

Dallon pulls his arm against a demon, but he tightens his grip on Dallon. His eyes are red from the tears and hysterical crying. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out the first few times. He does manage to speak after a few more attempts, but his voice is extremely hoarse and strained. 

"But you're not real, Brendon. None of this is."


	17. Alone

My eyes widen. 

"Should we knock him out, Andy?" a demon asks. If Dallon was scared before, now he's terrified. He lets out a whine and throws his whole body into resisting the demons holding him down to the table. 

"No! There will be no knocking out! Of any kind," I interrupt.

Dallon hasn't stopped whimpering or trying to pull against the demons holding him down. At least his fear is justified. I mean, I'm pretty sure that if someone kidnapped me and took me through a portal to a different place and threatened to knock me out, I'd be scared too.

"Dallon, please, calm down. No one's gonna hurt you. You aren't going to die again if I can help it."

He doesn't respond verbally, but he stops fighting. He goes completely still. The demon's grips lighten on his arms and legs. I take a once-over of him before turning to the demon holding down Dallon's legs. 

"I want a room with him. Alone. Can you make that happen?" 

"Why should we listen to you?" the demon asks. 

"'Cuz he's your new emporer." Ashley says. 

The demon's eyes look to the ground and he apologizes. The other three demons turn to Ashley. She fills them in on what happened. Dallon doesn't even seem like he's trying to hear, as if he's too focused on trying to figure out where he is to be paying attention to what Ashley's saying. I don't blame him.

"Yeah. Ashley's old bedroom has a lock on it. And we can guard the outside, too, if you want," the demon says. 

I shake my head. "That won't be necessary. And you can let go of him, too." 

The demons let go of Dallon, and immediately he curls in on himself and starts to cry. In relief or distress, I don't know for sure. One thing I do know, is that I never want to see him cry ever again. He looks so broken. 

I walk around the table and rest my hand on his shoulder, testing the waters. He flinches away from me and looks up. He doesn't hold his eye contact with me for long, he closes his eyes and turns to the side. I take my hand off of him. 

"Go take everything out of the bedroom that isn't a bed. Change the sheets and the blankets, too." 

"Yes sir, Mr. Dictator, sir," a demon says, saluting and marching away, bursting into hysterical laughter. I roll my eyes and the other demons continue down the hallway behind him with no further comments. They come back fifteen minutes later, telling me that they'd done as I asked. 

I start to pick Dallon up bridal-style, but after that failed attempt and Dallon almost bursting into tears, two of the other demons help me carry him to Ashley's old bedroom. 

The sheets are black, the bed frame is black, the floor is almost black, and the walls are gray. Ashley had weird tastes, but I'm not complaining. The demons set Dallon down on the bed and leave. I quickly lock the door, and before I can speak Dallon is in tears again. 

I don't know what to do, honestly. I don't know how to deal with someone like this. But I do know Dallon. Dallon from Earth. The one who loved staying awake as long as he could, hid shyly under multiple layers of bkankets, and always double tied his shoelaces. But this isn't Dallon from Earth. This Dallon has literally been torn apart and hastily sewn back together who knows how many times. This Dallon is foreign, even to himself. He doesn't even know what he wants. He's disoriented and scared. That's usually me. I haven't had much experience with Dallon at his weak points, he'd usually just shut me out and hide until he was better, and he wouldn't ever talk about it afterwards. There is some hope, though. If he is still in there somewhere, even a little tiny fragment, I can build on that. I might have a chance at getting him back. 

I sit on the edge of the bed, easing down gently to not startle him. "Dallon?" 

He looks up at me, and the sight is heart-wrenching. His eyes are glossed over with tears ready to spill. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, the collar of his shirt and the edges of his sleeves are soaked in tears. His hair is matted and visibly dirty, and there's mud caked on his cheek and in his hair.   
I think the first step is to at least convince him where he is, and that it's real. I almost don't want to believe it too, I feel a pang of jealousy for Dallon's ability to convince himself that none of this is real and that he'll wake up tomorrow in bed with me beside him. 

I stand up and turn around to take my shoes off. When I turn back around, I see Dallon reaching and pulling his sleeves down past his wrists, and pulling his socks up over his ankles and his pants down over them. 

That's the part of him that stayed. The part that wants to hide. 

I take the edge of the blanket on the bed and slowly start to cover him, and he seems to like that idea. He yanks it the rest of the way over himself, the blanket now covering his entire body from his head to his toes. I walk to the windows and close the blinds. Dallon never wanted to go to sleep in the morning on Earth without making it as dark as possible. I turn off the lights and sit on the floor next to the bed on the side Dallon is facing. 

He's stopped crying at this point, only sniffling and moving around to be more comfortable. I do hear snoring at one point, it comes and goes, though. Seeing him like this has me seriously questioning what exactly happened in purgatory. I would've traded places with him in a heartbeat, no questions asked. He certainly did not deserve to go through what he did. 

"I'm sorry, Dallon. I'm so sorry. I promise, I'll make hell, well, not hell, just for you. I promise." 

I lay down next to him and watch him sleep. He doesn't need nightmares added onto the list of things he has to go through. Not if I can help it.


	18. Quantity? Or Quality?

I think having such a bland environment actually helped Dallon in a way, he didn't seem freaked out at all. Though, it had its pros and cons. One of the pros was that he was calm and eventually fell asleep, that exceeded my expectations. The con was that he slept off and on for days. Would've been weeks if I hadn't said something. 

"Do you want to do something?" 

He looks at the ground and looks back up at me. He says nothing, but his eyes are a different story. There's something about them, like he's seen too many horrible things and now they're scared. They look dull.

"Dallon, you need to talk if you want something." 

He still doesn't respond. No hand signals, no nodding, nothing. It's as if he can't understand me, though he could just be too traumatized to talk. 

I walk outside the room and take a piece of paper and a pencil from a desk in the hall. Maybe he'll communicate better this way. When I come back, though, he's buried under the blanket and crying as quietly as he can manage. Granted, it's not very quiet, but I don't know why he would want to hide. 

"Dallon?" 

This time he responds, but not necessarily in a positive way. He tucks the blankets under himself tightly, resembling a burrito. 

"Dallon?" 

No response. However, after about ten minutes, he uncovers himself with the blanket and looks up at me. 

"Why'd you leave me?" he asks. 

I raise my eyebrows and get up to lock the door. He then lets out a breath he probably didn't realize he was holding. I walk closer to the bed, and I can see him tense up slightly, but not in defense, probably just awareness. He brings his knees to his chest when I go to sit down, and stares at me and looks determined to not stop looking at me until I move away. 

I set the pad of paper and the pencil down in front of him, just in case he'd feel safer talking to me that way. He glances at them and then turns his attention back to me. I don't know whether him starting at me is out of affection or fear, it's hard to read his eyes. Back on Earth it was so much easier, but now I can't get any idea as to what he's feeling. 

"I just went to get the pad of paper and the pencil. Are you okay?" 

Dallon looks down at his feet and thinks about his response for a few moments before answering. "Scared." 

I don't really understand what he has to be afraid of. He's slept in here for about a week, no problem. Well, maybe he's sleeping to keep himself together. I don't know, it's just a theory. 

"What are you scared of? Do you think I'm going to hurt you?" 

I stand up and move to the wall opposite of the bed, still facing Dallon. He seems to relax a bit, his hands aren't clutching his legs as tightly anymore. However, it's still like he has this barrier up to protect himself, both physically and mentally. 

He doesn't seem to be able to process the fact that he has to answer two questions, so I repeat the second one, as it's a simple yes-or-no response. If he is scared of me, I can leave him alone for a while and get closer over time. If he's not, then at least I know that purgatory hasn't messed with his ability to trust others. Either way, I can begin to find out what kind of mental state he's in. 

"Scared," he says. I'm gonna take that as a no. 

I open the door again and go out to try and find Andy. He told me what monsters who had come here from purgatory were like, so I'm going to ask him to see if he can tell me more. 

I do eventually find him, but with the last person I expected to see here. 

Pete. 

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's Pete. Bleached hair, slight stubble, the usual. Talking to Andy like they've had conversations before, totally relaxed. 

"Pete?" 

Pete turns around to see me, and crosses the room to say hi. 

"So, where's Dallon? Andy said you got him out of purgatory." 

Well, I figured, since I'm here, maybe I could ask him instead of Andy. I had other things to ask him too.

"He's in Ashley's old bedroom. Now, I need to know why I went to hell and Dallon went to Purgatory. It's not fair, he didn't deserve that!" 

Pete pressed his lips into a line and sighed. "Well, monsters have two routes they can go when they die. Purgatory or hell. Satan for the most part decides that. Bad monsters go to Purgatory." 

That makes absolutely no sense. Like I said, not fair. Dallon was a very good monster. "But Dallon wasn't bad at all." 

Pete sighs and nods. "He actually was. He drank fresh blood. A lot. He was basically an addict. Drinking fresh human blood is basically sacred. And it was all Dallon drank besides that shit from the hospital. I tried getting him to stop, but he didn't want to." 

That would've been nice to know before I let him do that. Before I let myself do that. But that doesn't matter anymore, the past is the past. He's in Hell, so that's good. 

"Oh. Well, you should go try and talk to him. He's kind of just... shut down, in a way. Barely taking, sleeping a lot. He cried when I left for literally ten seconds, and just answered 'scared' when I asked him anything."

I started to walk towards his room, and Pete followed. We stopped at the door and he turned to face me. 

"It's anxiety, Brendon. He's basically traumatized. I read up about Purgatory and asked Gerard about it when Dallon died. All he did in purgatory was die, over and over and over again until you came and rescued him. It's normal for him to be this way. He just needs to be around people and things he was with on Earth, especially when he was happy. That'll help." 

I nodded and opened the door to find that Dallon had reformed into a blanket-burrito again, sobbing into his pillows. Pete closed and locked the door, and Dallon stilled. Pete walked closer to the bed, but didn't touch Dallon or even the bed. 

"Dallon? Hey, it's me, Pete."

Dallon quickly threw the blanket across the bed and sat up, his eyes lightening at the sight of Pete. He doesn't do that when I'm around. How can he respond better to Pete than me? I mean, I have sex with him. Or at least had. He barely even talked to Pete on Earth, how can he act like that around him? 

"Are you okay? Brendon told me you were scared." 

Dallon nodded. He nodded. I don't understand how Pete did that, but honestly I'm feeling a bit offended that he didn't respond that well to me. 

"Can you tell me what you're scared of? Maybe I can help." 

Dallon brings his knees to his chest as he did before, and searched his mind for an answer. "Being eaten again," he says. 

Now, I don't understand how Pete can just waltz in here like some damn magician and abracadabra his way into getting Dallon to talk. I grip Pete's wrist and unlock the door, dragging him into the hallway and trying my best not to slam the door behind me. 

"How the hell are you doing that?" I ask. 

Pete crosses his arms and rolls his eyes like the answer should be right in front of me. "I've known him since he turned. So, that makes it about fifteen years. You've only been with him for five. So he's probably just more accustomed to seeing me than you." 

"But we were in love, Pete. We lived together. You guys don't love each other." 

He seems to be at a loss after what I've said. It would make sense for Dallon to be more comfortable with me than him, but it's the other way around. 

"Well, it's been working. So I'm going to go back in there, and try and figure this out. Then we can try to make him better." 

I nod, following Pete back inside.


	19. A Cycle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicidal thoughts

Every time I feel like hurting myself, I tell myself not to act on temporary feelings and that hurting myself is a solution to a temporary problem, but it's hard to stay hopeful like that if the feeling just keeps coming back. 

Brendon tells me all of these things like Dallon, it will be worth it eventually or it'll get better, I promise but I never believe him when he says that, because I don't even believe it sometimes when I say it to myself. Even with someone trying to reassure me, it doesn't work. But hurting myself doesn't work either, so I don't do it. 

The only reason I haven't killed myself yet is because death is permanent. There's no ifs, ands, buts, take backsies, or a reverse button with that. I doubt that there is anything after Hell, but I tell myself there isn't so I don't do anything stupid and scare the shit out of everyone.

"Dallon, hey! Snap out of it!" 

Brendon caught me again. Staring out into nothing, lost in my own thoughts. They've tried to get me to do things, but I don't want to. It's not going to help. Forcing me to go out of my comfort zone (that zone not going any further than this bedroom Brendon stuck me in) isn't going to work if I'm already out of it. Being in an unknown place, thinking scary and unwanted thoughts that just won't stop and those memories from Purgatory need to be taken care of before I move on. Think of it like a video game: you can't get to level ten if you're only on level one. It's a process. You do activities, gain experience, and find hacks to help you as you try to conquer all of the hard parts of the game that is life. 

However, emotional recovery is not a linear line. There are ups, downs, loop de loops, and curly q's. 

"What do you want now?" I ask.

Over the last two weeks, Brendon has stayed in this room with me at least 80% of the time, and the time he didn't spend with me was spent with Pete talking about how I'm doing. Clearly he doesn't seem to remember I can hear everything he says because 1) he only goes out into the hallway outside my room and 2) I'm a vampire. Super hearing. 

Brendon gestures to the bag of blood sitting on a table in front of the bed. "You need to eat. It's been a couple of days. I'm worried." 

"I'm not hungry. I'll eat when I'm hungry." 

He doesn't seem to understand my logic, or the fact that I'm a vampire and we're in Hell. I don't have to eat, it just feels better when I do. Brendon, Pete, and all the other demons eat just like we did on Earth. The hunger serves as a distraction sometimes, but the flashbacks and the intrusive negative thoughts seem to be enough most of the time. It just serves as a filler, really. 

"God dammit, Dallon, no. You drink this blood or I'm gonna shove that tube down your throat. There's no fresh blood in hell, so you can't get your fix anymore, you addict." 

"I'm not an addict," I say quietly. I didn't drink fresh blood on Earth like some people I knew, but I can't say I didn't have a problem with it. I don't like to call myself an addict, I had control over it. I just indulged maybe a bit more than I probably should have. I was smart to drug Brendon so he wouldn't ever crave fresh blood, because if he smelled the drops in my mouth after I drank it, he wouldn't be able to restrain himself enough. Baby vamps can't get that control like their older counterparts. 

"No, you are! Andy told me that vampires that drank fresh blood like you do go to Purgatory! That's why you were sent there instead of Hell, like me. But whatever, have fun withdrawing, idiot." Brendon marches out into the hallway, leaving me to peace and quiet once again. 

Well, that makes a lot of sense. Purgatory is so much worse than Hell, so it would make sense that Satan would send our kind to Purgatory. 

Out in the hallway, Pete starts talking to Brendon. "I swear man, Frank is just a slut. He won't shut up." 

"At least Gerard knows how to moan quietly. Frank doesn't even try to hold back. I caught them in the bathroom just yesterday." 

"What're we gonna do? What if Dallon catches them?" 

"I've got an idea. Let me go talk to them for a bit," Brendon says. His footsteps get quieter, and Pete's become louder until the door opens. It's like they're on shifts or something. 

"I don't need a babysitter," I say. 

"But grumpy old men need caretakers," Pete retorts.

Why I may be in my early ninties, that doesn't mean I'm any weaker than I used to be. I'm actually stronger. 

"I'm a vampire. I'm at least twice as strong as the regular demons here. Just f*ck off." 

Pete squints his eyes and sits on the floor near the bathroom door. "Something tells me you don't want me to leave." 

I do want him to leave. I want to leave all of this so I don't have to stress about keeping my relationship with Brendon intact while at the same time restraining myself from killing him. I just want to be in a place where I don't have to worry about anything. A place where I can put myself back together and stop thinking these horrible thoughts. 

"I just want to be alone." 

However, he seems to think I'm lying. He stands up and moves toward the bed, at which I respond by moving towards the headboard and hugging my knees. He sits beside me and wraps his arms around me and I feel like a bear being hugged by a cat. He is rather short, it makes me feel tall. 

"It's okay to cry, Dallon. And no one wants to be alone. Especially vampires, they like to stick together. I mean, why do you even think I'm here?" 

This bastard has been following me since I turned. I thought he died because he tried to avenge my death attempting to kill Patrick. But no, this asshole killed himself to follow me. To make sure that I was gonna be okay. 

The physical aspect of my thoughts begin to show up, staining Pete's shirt sleeve. Once it starts, it's hard to stop, so I give up trying to, because it's not worth trying to be strong around someone who already is. I know now that Brendon's not very good at picking up my broken pieces, because he doesn't even know what they look like. Pete on the other hand saw the glass before it shattered.


	20. It's Impossible to Rest in Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is short, it's all I think it needed.

Here lies the remnants of the soul of Dallon J. Weekes. 

"He was one the kindest people to ever live. This route he was taken on was thrust upon him by fate, and he retaliated by testing the very laws of death by throwing himself into the habitat in which Cerberus lay." 

I had to leave after Pete said that. I couldn't bear to hear anymore, I didn't want to believe he was as close to death as he would ever come. His soul was beyond repair, Ashley had said, but he was still existing. He will never be fully at peace, no one in Hell will. Ashley had put a spell over his soul to calm it. If his soul was left alone, it would eventually hastily put itself back together and wreak havoc on all of Plexor, and possibly the next town closest to us. Ashley compared the spell to being asleep, but I know that's not the case.

He will never be at rest. 

♢♢♢

"Ok. But I want my ruby back, Brendon." 

I slip my hand into my back pocket and take out the ruby, holding it out for him to take. He plucked it from my hand and placed it in an empty indent on a septer hanging on the wall. I don't see why he needed it if it was just decoration. 

He drew a few shapes in the air, similar to the shapes I drew to make a portal to purgatory. They started to glow, and a small breeze blew from the hole in the air. 

"You may now travel to and from Earth, Hell, and Purgatory as you please." 

I nod and step into the portal, feeling my skin stretch out until it becomes very painful and on the brink of tearing. It stays like that for a while, and then I see nothing. 

I sit up, feeling normal again. The smell of the room is very familiar and comforting. It's been a while since I've been here, though. 

Home. 

And I've decided that I'm never leaving it. 

The End.


End file.
